Goals on a Saturday Morning

July 18th, 2009

There is no sane reason to be awake at 6am on Saturday morning, especially if you aren’t even employed… except maybe for the Freshman orientation that your son needs to attend in a couple hours.  Wow.  I’m going to say, yet again, how proud I am of him.  He didn’t qualify for a lot of financial aid, unfortunately, but the total of his scholarships covered everything but $3000.  That’s still a lot of money, but not  nearly as much as we were thinking considering his basic tuition for his first year at this particular school is almost $16,000 for off-campus living.  Thank goodness he’s living at home!  I’ve said it a million times, and I’m sure people are sick of  hearing it, but it both amazes me and scares the hell outta me that he’s at this point in life.  This is the step that he’ll take where it really can be a make it or break it step.  While I’m extremely confident of his priorities and maturity, I don’t want to get too comfortable because I know he’ll make mistakes along the way, and I want to be here to help pick him up and dust him off. 

The rest of my Saturday will be spent cleaning house and working on my business inventory/outline.  Oh, way back on the old blog I wrote a post asking people for ideas on a good name for the shop.  That request is still open.  If  you aren’t a fiber arts kind of person, it may be difficult to offer help, and it might seem silly, so just be patient with me.  It’s extremely important that the shop make a statement and represent everyone.  You’d be amazed how many shops out there only cater to one particular area such as knitting only.  Sewing, crochet, knitting… they each use completely different materials, (knit uses needles, crochet uses hooks) even vocabulary.  Everybody knows the terms “knit” and “purl” (even if you don’t know what they mean), but anyone not into this stuff might not know those are only knitting terms.  For instance, the phrase “pretty purls” kept popping up in my mind a few days ago, but unless I can come up with something that also represents the crochet side, I don’t want to use it.

I know that’s all boring, but this is pretty much the only place I have to hash this all out, the only input I get from anyone.  I don’t talk about it with anyone in my family because I hate how they act about it.  The last time I shared a big dream/goal with them, I was fourteen and my parents nagged me right out of it.  I know, I’m not fourteen anymore, but when I’m sitting across the room from my parents, I might as well be!

If I have this much trouble coming up with a name, I’m screwed on the rest of it, huh.
Words popping up so far:

pretty purls
but the skein
never knots
lovely loops
sew sweet
hook me
string theory
chains of purls
hooks and purls
ewe need to unwind
the chilly/naked sheep
ewe’ve come unraveled

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18 and Life

April 12th, 2009

The Easter Bunny has made his deliveries, and the sun is up so bright and glorious already.  It’s still cold outside, but it promises to be an absolute perfect day for the egg hunt.
I’ve already finished my first cup of coffee.  It’s been more than two weeks since I was able to really sit down and enjoy the morning.  I’m not saying I really have the time to do it this morning, but I’m taking the time, anyway.
Spring break is over after today, and I hate to admit it, but I’m glad about that.  Entertaining everyone all week has been exhausting.  They’re all such different kids.  We didn’t go anywhere for break because we just have too much going on.
For instance, today isn’t just Easter Sunday, it’s the day the man child officially becomes a man.  He’s eighteen today.  I can’t type it without shaking.  Almost any screw up before today had great chances of being fixed, being blamed on the innocence of youth.  From this day forward, he’s held accountable and responsible for every single decision he makes.  He could be drafted. 
His innocence astounds me.  Very few boys turn eighteen with the same outlook.  He’s still a virgin.  Certainly not because he hasn’t had options.  A handsome jock, popular… he actually broke up with his last girlfriend because he didn’t want to screw her and she wouldn’t shut up about it.  He has plans, goals to reach, and that’s where his mind is.  But now he’s at the age where, with one wrong move, everything can go south, and it so often does.  I’ve seen it so many times.  Young men and women get one taste of freedom, one taste of the real world, and it overloads every ounce of logic they have.  This is the time when they need us to shelter them the most, yet it’s the time when they’ll allow it the least.
How did you handle this?  If you haven’t yet, how do you plan to handle it?  If you’re a man, how do you wish your parents had handled it?  It’s overwhelming.

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Fifteen Minutes

February 28th, 2009

Saturday mornings are quickly becoming my favorite mornings.  I used to think it was the early morning hours of the days of the week, but these Saturday mornings are much more relaxed.  I beat everyone out of bed, but I’m not having to wake up as early as normal.  Even though my weekends are filled with chaos, I don’t feel as stressed about it the way I do school and work days.

Today, for instance, Screw has to work, so I’ll be handling the craziness all on my own.  Well, it won’t compare to his, anway… first of the month means a million hateful people wanting prescriptions immediately.  As exhausted as I’ll be at the end of my day, he’ll be worse.  Today is IzzyB’s last official ballgame.  I thought I’d be happy to see it end, but it was adding something to her self-esteem.  She was doing so well.  I hate for it to end just because of that.  Right after her game we have piano lessons, then a late lunch party at an indoor playground, and finally a community theatre presentation of a black light puppet show.  It sounds like something you’d watch when you’re high, but I’ve heard they’re really cute.  I guess we’ll see!

The only real problem with today’s plans is that it’s currently raining outside that is supposed to turn to sleet, then ice, then snow by this evening.  Actual accumulations are expected.  Don’t think I don’t know Mother Nature is laughing her ass off right now, but come on, when I said I wanted a real snowy winter, I didn’t mean this!  I meant snow.  Enough snow to build a snowman!  Not rain, sleet, ice, and tornados.  Hello!?

The truth is all this activity is keeping my mind off the fact that I’m emotionally exhausted.  I just don’t have anything else to give right now, and I need a break.  It’s my fault.  It isn’t like I don’t know if you try to be and do everything,  you end up disappointing everyone.  I don’t want to do that. 

What I really want to do is sit here, drink coffee, watch it rain, and cry.  Totally feel sorry for myself because God knows that’s what I do best.  Admitting that is easy because I know that I’m also not one to wallow too long.  I know when to pick myself up, dust off, and get back to it.

Fifteen minutes.  That’s a rule with me.  When I’ve had more than I can stand, I give myself fifteen minutes to scream, cry, and kick.  I get it out of my system, and then I let it go.  I clear my head and try to work it out.  I passed that on to my man child a few months ago.  He was struggling with having to face his old coach after he decided to stop playing football.  He knew the coach was going to be a smartass when he saw him, and the dread was keeping him awake at night.  I sat him down and asked him to talk to me about it.  I asked him if he truly felt like he made the right decision by leaving the team.  He didn’t even hesitate before he answered that he knew he had.  I asked him why he was wasting days and nights on fifteen minutes.  Then I explained to him that all the dread and anxiety would end in about fifteen minutes of uncomfortable embarrassing air.  That’s it.  Then it would be over, and it was pointless to waste so much time on what would begin and end in fifteen minutes or less.  When  he came home that day he smiled and told me I’d been exactly right.  Within fifteen minutes the jabs ended, the uncomfortable atmosphere had eased, and the class was just another normal class. 

Yeah, so the reality is that sometimes that fifteen minutes ends with a vat of ice cream or chocolate and a chick flick, but hell, no one’s perfect.

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