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A stream of random thought…

Every morning, I get up, turn on the Keurig, and sit on my porch with my morning cup of motivation.  

The weather and light are changing, but I just wrap a blanket around me and continue my morning routine.

Coffee. Facebook. Emails. Listening.

It’s so peaceful.  It doesn’t matter the actual time, it’s just the peace that comes with morning.  Maybe its 9:30 or 7:00.  It’s just calm.

I contemplate the day and consider all that I’m in charge of.

I log on for my work training (yes, I have a real job again—more on that later, but it’s really great!), laundry, sweep the floors, call the furniture company…again, make calls to try and navigate the medical system and getting new doctors, put away the messy counter items, find the dogs’ ball…the list goes on.

But these things aren’t the things that really matter.

What I really have on my mind is the science activity I didn’t really read to prepare, the book I need to catch up on so I can read it with the teen (because he ASKED me to do something academic with him!), the painting project supplies I need to get for the dancer girl’s latest idea, and the math lesson that I know I need to research because she will have a bad attitude about.

I think about the dance moms I wish I knew here to connect with, the friends I wish the teen had here, and the hubby who is constantly on the road.  I think of the dancer girl and her low self-esteem about school, the teen and his future, and the already adult child who is learning that life is hard at times (especially when you feel all alone).  

I think of so many fragile things.

I think of the way the dancer girl’s lips trembled on the way home from a frustrating night of dance recently.  I think of the way my heart broke when the Navy girl told me she missed her college entrance exam by mere points.  I think of the way I hate Monday mornings because hubby has to hop a jet plane somewhere, and even though I know our weekly routine operates without him here, it still makes my heart feel sad and broken and fragile to watch him walk away into the airport terminal.

I wonder what exactly we are all doing here and why it sometimes still feels so hard.  How can things be hard when this slower life pace has reduced my stress by a million?

Actually, make that a zillion.  

Those of you back “home” wouldn’t even recognize me.  I’m not lugging in a suitcase of essays to critique or begging other dance moms to help me grade math facts tests in the dance studio lobby.  I’m not scribbling notes in drama scripts or spray painting crazy classroom transformation props in my driveway at midnight.  I don’t spend all day every Sunday grading papers, writing lesson plans, and frantically trying to catch up.  

Don’t worry, my new job is not going to contribute the kind of stress that a full-time classroom teacher deals with.  Still giving hats off to all of them.

I don’t have a 5:00 a.m. alarm clock, and I no longer spend the weekends scouring Goodwill in search of costumes for the latest crazy classroom idea I’ve had.

The lack of a crazy schedule and the go/go/go is a blessing.  So why does it still feel like so many things are holding on by the thread of silk?

Maybe the problem is that I’ve been so busy the past, oh, thirty-some years, that I didn’t actually realize all these things were in such a delicate balance.  Perhaps if I had slowed down sooner, I wouldn’t feel all these things and feelings crashing around me like a crumbling Roman empire.

But here I am.  So, what do I do?

Well…

I take each day one at a time.  I look forward to the small things.

I hug my kids and husband every chance I get.  I play with the dogs.  I make a latte any time I’m at a loss…because coffee fixes everything.

And… I take care of the fragile things around and inside of me.


Last weekend I soaked off my acrylic nails.  They were super expensive and destroying my actual nails (thanks to poor application from a salon here).  Today, I repainted my paper thin nails in an effort to save them from the ragged ends.  Dancer girl oooo’ed and ahhh’ed over them.  They are awful and pitiful and not pretty.  But she loves them.  Because they are me.  She loves me because I’m me.  That love is big and deep and constant.  Although it is not what fragile things are made of, it does teach us a lesson about how you should handle fragile things.

We should handle those things that are fragile with the most care.  It doesn’t matter if it is fragile because you feel like it breaks you apart or fragile because it is barely holding together.  Either way, you take care of it.

On many occasions here since the move, I’ve felt invisible.  The kind of invisible that if I disappeared my kids and hubby would be the only ones who would notice.  It makes you feel insignificant when you think about yourself like that.  So this week, I’ll count myself when I think of all the fragile things.

I’ll remember that hubby wouldn’t just miss the ride home from the airport, but every minute thereafter.  I’ll remember that the dancer girl smiled and made funny faces at me (even through the glass into the parking lot) as I watched her dance this week from my car.  

I’ll remember that mid-conversation, the adult Navy girl told her co-worker that she was talking to “her mom” on the phone tonight—which may not be a big deal to the rest of the world, but it means a lot to me.

It means that even on an ordinary Friday, there is a soul walking around in the world who has no blood connection to me, but she called me because she needed “her mom”.  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard it in organic conversation, and even though I already knew she considered me her mom, it’s a pretty big deal.  Huge.

It means that I’m not insignificant or invisible or anything of the sort.

Fragile things require special care.  It’s easy to forget that in the bustle of life.  It’s easy to forget that when we don’t take care of ourselves as well.

Since we’ve moved and I’ve started a new job working from home, finding the right space was important to me.  Both the head space and the physical space need to be aligned if you want my full commitment.  So, I thought about it for quite some time…

I decided on a tiny corner desk in one of my favorite rooms in the house.  While most rooms in our new house are lit like the dungeons of medieval times, our bedroom is not.  There are beautiful ceiling details, lots of light, a window, and a small corner where I put I tiny corner desk and a super cushy chair.  A chair that I debated and compared reviews on for two weeks…because I’m still the OCD girl you know and love. (Spoiler alert—the obsessing was worth it because the chair is killer.  I’ll link it for you.)

Homall Office Chair High Back… https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DMW7W37?ref=ppx_pop_mob_ap_share

I know there are all sorts of “rules” about what you should and shouldn’t put in your bedroom, and I’m pretty sure a workstation is against the rules. 

But here’s the thing, I absolutely do not care.  

Our bedroom is the happiest, brightest, most relaxing room in the house.  Soooo…that is where I shall work.  On a tiny desk that can’t collect clutter, next to the wall where I’ve hung the most fragile things.  

My family.  My soul mate, my children, my pride and joy.  These pictures are a story of why we take care of fragile things.  

I am learning everyday that the dishes and math pages mean less than the children’s emotions as they do them.  I’m realizing that it’s okay to take a time out for myself and angry vacuum if that is what will make me breathe easier.  I’m learning that schedules aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.  (Yes, you heard it from me—the Queen of Routine).

So, this week, as you make your to-do list, be sure to put all the fragile things on it.  Take care of things like weak, chipped nail polish and quirky teenage boys and adult children who love you like blood and dancer girls and hubbies who love you more for who you are than for the ride from the airport—because even you are fragile.

Be grateful (for fragile things), water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.

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