If Dad Could See Me Now…

Russ and I took the girls on a drive yesterday. We drove down to Lake Champlain, taking the back roads, dirt roads we’d not taken before, just to make it more interesting. We were headed to a marina. To look at sailboats for sale.

It was a trip I’ve taken hundreds of times in places all along the east coast with my own parents.  Growing up, Sundays were often “mystery trip” days.  At first, my folks wouldn’t tell us where we were going. Sometimes even my mom wouldn’t know.  But over the years, we saw the pattern: all roads led to a boat yard. Seriously, we visited boat yards everywhere we lived, from New Jersey  to Maryland to North Carolina all the way to Florida. Continue reading

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Lessons from Quebec

We came home from Quebec City last night.  We were there for my daughter’s “select” AAA hockey team’s tournament. We left early. We could have stayed another night and played two more games, but, my daughter’s team lost all four and were O.U.T., so we, the parental units, opted to save another $125 in hotel charges and drive after the last 7pm game, into the late night, home.  It wasn’t easy but it was the right thing to do.

Isn’t that always the case? Ugh.

Olivia was devastated when we packed our bags and 9AM yesterday morning.  They had two more games to play, and even though the first two went 0-6 and 0-4, Olivia was pretty sure her team might still make it to the championship round. Continue reading

Pig-Headed Do-Gooder Sports

“You are the volunteer of last resort” my husband chided me this weekend. I’m just not sure how to take that!?  The truth is, I am reliable and I commit cautiously, but fully.  Those qualities make me a perfect glutton for punishment. And in the world of parent-volunteerism, there’s plenty of punishment to be had.

What makes matters worse, however, is that I have two other qualities that delude me in my volunteerism: “do-gooder” and “pig-headed”.  Those are the more common names for my qualities. I tend to refer to them as my lofty-dreamy-isms and my love of the sport of running-down-the-slim-odd.

So altogether, you have a girl who believes she can make the world better, is not deterred by the odds, and who will do the dirty work, even if no one else will.  Seriously, I am a cause’s wet-dream! Continue reading

The Place Where Everything Changed

I happened to mention my Train-Wreck metaphor for our life to Russ yesterday. And I just sorta slipped in that I posted something on this blog. I wasn’t sure he cared much for this.  But I cushioned the news with the retelling of the intro — that I love our life but that it makes me crazy sometimes. Yeah, something like that.

He had sort of a bemused look on his face. I thought it best to ignore it. Continue reading

The Train-Wreck

I have to admit that I have a love-hate relationship with my own life and marriage.  I love that Russ and I feel like we can do anything, go anywhere, that our kids will roll with just about anything, that slim odds or challenging logistics are never deal-breakers; I hate that we are so f*cking disorganized that we eitiher do WAAY too much at once or we miss every good opportunity because we’re still chasing down a stupid slim odd. Continue reading

MeMeMe Talk

I suppose there is some subliminal message in my writings. It’s probably “help! I’m lost? I can’t find my way!”  Others might hear it. I cannot.

It takes a crowd of voices, mostly in my head, for me to faintly hear anything.

The shouts of my brain, my soul, my psyche have been telling me that what I am searching for is “MY thing”. My thing to call MY OWN.  Sometimes finding the right word for it makes it so much clearer.

Running and training for a half-marathon has been ALL ABOUT ME. It’s been MY Thing.  It’s been good for me.  It feels like the only thing I have and do just for me.

Now maybe that’s just the way it works for a mom. But I think I should have more.

I’ve been fixated on my husband’s unhappiness and utter frustration with work. I get fixated on every up and down of my children’s lives.  While I enjoy being so intimately connected to people, I realize it’s not healthy for me.

I recently used the phrase “imprisoned” to describe my unhappiness stemming from my husband’s unhappiness (with work). I have felt like I can’t settle, grow, spread my wings, relax or be myself for fear that my world will close in on me and we will move.

I’m sure that whole sentence represents a therapist’s onion to help unpeel. I know what it’s about however, so I don’t think I need the therapist.

What I need is something to call my own. I’ve been thinking it’s a job; a way to bring in some money so I feel like we can take an airplane trip w/o dipping into our investment accounts, or so I can buy myself some fun clothes. Maybe a job would give my spouse some security to find his next path.

Is my thing to call my own — a  new career path? Taking design classes? Should I train to be a teacher?

My homework is to try to figure out what MY THING is; MY THING to fixate on. My thing to make good for me.

Time to let go and be free and happy!