In transition

It’s funny how an old household appliance can illustrate the idea that I should spend more time exploring the options I already have. Last night I was cleaning the kitchen and getting ready for bed a little earlier than usual, when the coffeemaker caught my eye. Arguably the most important tool in our kitchen, the appliance sits wedged under a cabinet with a spool of thread holding the lid on tightly. Without the spool it sullenly blinks “Lid Open, Lid Open.” We’ve had this Wal-mart wonder for over a year and I can’t remember ever actually setting it.  Today I’m enjoying coffee without measuring half-blinded by sleep. I didn’t bang the filter on the trashcan and hope the kids were sleeping soundly. I should have taken advantage long ago.

Several weeks ago, Mark threw a cup of water and destroyed my laptop. I have been slowly learning how much a person depends on saved passwords and email address. It’s been a rude awakening from which I am recovering. If I was supposed to respond to an email, please resend it. I believe I have caught up on everything, but it’s hard to tell.

Always back up your address book. Always.

I miss my photo-editing software.

I have agreed to head up the building community track for this year’s CREATE South. I’ll be filling 3.5 hours with presentations, at the moment I believe I’m leaning toward three individual presentations of 30 – 45 minutes and one panel. This could change depending on my success or failure with securing speakers.

I have returned to the gym. I have also joined an online group of ladies whose goal is to lose 15lbs by June. 15lbs would put me right at my target weight, but as I do lift weights that is not a hard number. I need to figure out my BMI so I have a concrete target, but there is effort involved and do I really need to go there? I plan on entering at least a 5k in April and I am considering the Cooper River Bridge Run. My last two runs have been fairly decent 3.5 and 3.65 miles in 45 minutes. However, I still hate running, but I’m starting to hate days I don’t run a little more.

Are my kids the only ones who seem to go through periods of extreme klutziness? We have not scheduled family portraits, so I cannot figure out the cause. The 5yo has rug burns on his forehead and nose, very attractive I might add. The baby tipped over on the tricycle skinning her upper lip and forehead. Then yesterday she wiped out and hit the bottom rung of a chair splitting her lower lip and bruising her gums. It breaks my heart to look at her right now.

Home Ec 101 will be mentioned in the May issue of Woman’s Day. I can’t begin to say how much this excites me. Don D. Lewis will be here on Tuesday to begin shooting video for the site.  I’ll be starting with basic knife skills am I’m thankful to know Don well enough to know he won’t hate me for being nervous and flubbing takes.

I did not get the job, but my resume is polished and will soon be posted on HeatherSolos.com, well, as soon as I get around to loading a platform.

I have a faint memory of peering through the windows in my second grade classroom and watching snow fall, it must have been 1986. Three years later we woke to snow for Christmas. I remember on other occasions watching the thermometer, hoping and praying for snow. There was an ice storm that froze the pines bending them into unnatural poses and snapping limbs.

In 1999 I moved to St. Paul, I eagerly anticipated that first snow. I later attended my first sledding party in jeans and thin leather boots and cried on the way home as my feet slowly and painfully thawed. My second winter someone was kind enough to educate me on the joy of thermal underwear. It may not be sexy, but it has an appeal of another kind.

April 15, 2002 I cried and cursed the four inches of snow on the ground and in March of 2004 I watched Spring in fastforward as we drove 1200 miles with all of our possessions to settle in this warmer land.

Today heavy clouds hang low and the local news is abuzz with the possibility of flurries. As for me, I’m just thankful if it does snow it won’t linger.

The first winter I lived in Minnesota was a rude awakening, mostly due to the weather, but new terminology as well. One particularly cold morning I wandered into work and overheard a conversation between co-workers.

#1 – Can you believe my grandpa woke me up at 5am to tell me to watch out for black guys?

#2 – Black guys scares the crap out of me.

Not knowing either of the women in the conversation I was aghast. I timidly asked, “Why would black guys be something to worry about?”

#1 – It got really cold last night.

Me – Well, wouldn’t they stay home like anyone else with sense?

At this point both women just stared at me. Finally woman #2 said very slowly “Black ice, Heather, black ice.”

Me – Oh!

Another Sunday night has arrived. The kids are tucked in, but are not quite ready to surrender to sleep. Currently, strains of Jingle Bells are drifting down the stairs. They aren’t fighting, so neither will I.
Tim and I have been working at the old house again. Some of it is easy. I don’t mind pulling staples and tackboard. If anything that job is a relief.
It’s the sorting that kills me. Knowing my father hates to part with anything, it’s hard to throw away a stack of letters, even though they have both moved on and are married to other, a cracked picture that used to hang in the hall. Those things can be hard, butaren’t impossible.
The pieces that hurt are those that were meant to be used and have simply rotted away.
I look at those broken toys and wonder how much overtime he has put in to cover the cost of an item he meant to use with his family, but never got around to.
It’s an old story and a familiar one to some, but how I hate sifting through the pieces of the past

I belong to a women’s group and at the close of each gathering there is an opportunity to state any prayer requests. The usual issues are brought up, someone is sick, somone needs clarity in a decision. In November of ’06 I requested that they pray that I might have more patience another child later, it dawned on me exactly what patience is and is not.

More recently, during my husband’s outage early in November I requested rest, a respite for our family as we had been busy and I was tired.

Were you aware that like chickenpox, mono can recur? Yep, if you’re one of the lucky few, it seems a virus or simply being rundown can bring it on.

Remember Waynes World?

I once thought I had mono for an entire year. It turns out I was just really bored.

It was something like that, but in reverse. I’d start to get the kids ready to leave the house and two hours later I’d give up in disgust. I thought I was struggling with depression or just turning incredibly lazy.

For a little while life was cut down to the musts: children must be fed 3x a day, they must be bathed, and that was just about it.

Today I’ll be heading back to the gym for the first time in well over a month.

Crazy.

The home I grew up in lies vacant. We are considering renovating, selling our current home, and living there for several years as a means to get a jump on retirement, college savings, and the purchase of several acres. In theory it’s a sound decision, but there are the demons of bad memories lurking in that neighborhood.
Things I did, things I said, and those done to me that cannot be taken back.
Will new flooring, fresh paint, and landscaping really help? My instincts say new memories will replace the old, but those first few weeks may be rough.
Today I walked down the street, and around a cul de sac I used to walk every day. Yes, the sidewalk has a few more cracks, but I don’t think time made the houses seem less imposing. I don’t feel as small as I used to, perhaps I’ve learned to stand a little straighter.
The shadows don’t seem as dark from up here.

Just remember it’s 5, 7, 5. It’s supposed to be about nature, but I find it fun to be spontaneous.

This evening’s muse? 

Aggravation.

Children are running
Baby squeals, boys are shrieking
Head pounds, Tylenol.

Eye twitches, nerves frayed.
Dogs are pacing, children scream.
Glass of wine for me?

Not hungry, too full
Eat two bites, this is dinner
Bed time, I am hungry!

I’ve dealt with typical hay fever my whole life.  Occasionally I’d wheeze, but I never really ventured into full blown asthma territory.

For an unknown reason I broke out in hives on Thursday. I had meetings and music lessons and too much life happening to do anything but wander through the day in a benadryl haze and hope things got better. They didn’t.

It’s never a good thing when someone winces as you remove an article of clothing.

It’s also probably not good when you don’t ask what shot is being administered.

I was also prescribed something along the lines of Benadryl on Steroids. The label on the bottle doesn’t mince words DO NOT DO ANYTHING DANGEROUS while on this medication. For some reason this tickles me as I zombie my way through the day.

The one thing my doctor and I agree on is that we don’t know what caused the problem in the first place. It could be viral, could have been something environmental, and I hope it’s not due to stress. I’ve been in more stressful situations in the past with no extreme reactions. I know I’m a little neurotic, but I don’t think I’ve ever caused a full body meltdown.

I lurk frequenty on FriendFeed, a nifty social media site. As with most areas of my life the conversation frequently turns to food. For the last two or three weeks I had seen references to Starbuck’s salted caramel hot chocolate. The name caught my imagination and curiosity. 

The drink I envisioned would be hot, topped with real whipped cream and just a drizzling of caramel. The whipped cream would slowly melt into a chocolatey, caramely concoction with a lingering tingle of salt.

I keep an emergency gift card in the car and during yesterday’s chilly afternoon I had a moment to stop at Starbucks, alone. There would be no demands to share. This was a stolen treat for a solitary drive. 

The young lady in the drive through praised my choice, causing my excitement to rise. As I took the cup, I was practically giddy. I pulled away from the drive through and took my first sip. It was thick and sticky, syrupy sugar coating my tongue. I suppose some things are better left to the imagination.

At least I was able to enjoy my drive in silence.