Reading A Secret History, Tartt's first novel. Or about to. It's waiting for me at the library!!!
Wondering if Miss Bit will make it through the day. She has been fighting a cold, and woke up feeling punky this morning. I gave her the option of staying home today, but she told me she doesn't like to miss school because she misses too many concepts. When the phone rang a little bit ago, it was her. I thought she was throwing in the towel, but she just needed me to bring her folder that had ALL her work in it STAT.
Noticing the way my thighs ache after time spent working in the yard this weekend. Usually, I welcome that kind of pain, but it made me realize that my redundant workouts have been exercising the same muscles at the expense of others.
Watching less. I've been doing more reading, but have still managed to tune in for Master Chef Junior with Miss Bit and Californication while I workout. It is edgy and if not for the fact that Hank Moody is a struggling writer, I may have moved on. I don't know what I was expecting with that title and all. Plays again too. This weekend we have tickets for Grease.
Listening to the freezing rain repel off the window panes. It sounds like our house is under attack, and has my boys unsettled. Jazz Christmas on Pandora. Freezing rain is almost snow so it is a natural choice. I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas was the first song. Coincidence? Or perhaps, plan?
Eating leftover frittata. Coach has this one mastered. More takeout and eating out than usual after the demise of our ovens.
Drinking coffee with cinnamon cream, water and pinot noirs in that order.
Dreaming about my Mom more often than usual. She appears strong and healthy, but I know she is sick. They are happy sad. Bittersweet.
Feeling fragile and unpredictable. Well, more like moody because from day to day I know exactly how I'm going to feel. Mondays I'm exhausted and uninspired, Tuesdays I'm introspective and enlightened, and on Wednesdays and Thursdays I feel optimistic, energized and focused. Then by Friday I'm ready to call it a week and retreat. Saturdays I wake feeling happy and hopeful. Sundays are always a bit of a wild card.
Wanting to stop wanting. This is the season of excess in every aspect of life, and I have a hard time reconciling what has become the commercialization of Christmas with what I know to be the true and everlasting meaning of this season. I find myself buying too much stuff and giving too little of myself, trying to keep up and quench this insatiable appetite for more more more. It doesn't feel good or right.
Wearing my new jeans that I love, love, love with suede tennis shoes and scarfs.
Hoping that the new wardrobe of pants we bought T. Bone over the weekend fits for a few months. He's a head taller than me now at 5' 6" and seemingly growing taller and taller every night as he sleeps.
Thinking that if I agree to some changes at work, my life at home is going to change too. All of life is give and take. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Enjoying lots of one on one time with my husband: a night in Kohler, a date to see James Taylor, an hour while the kids have Sunday school.
Loving the ones I'm with, the way Peanut is curled up beside me as I type, this grey day, our new microwave popcorn popper that works sans oil, the kindness my children show towards others (we're working on their kindness to one another), and the fall we have had especially as winter is on its way this afternoon.