Hopeful for a moment

In case you haven't heard, we have a new president today. I was helping out at my sons' school beforehand. All through the halls I could hear the celebration echoing from the TVs in each of the rooms turned on to watch history in the making. There weren't many roaming the halls. Together everyone was tuned in, connecting over this moment in time. It felt very precious to me, being a part of this moment. I rushed home, walking double stride to sit with my husband, to experience this with him, where it was okay for my face to be wet with tears, while we joined our hearts with our nation for now.

Just in time I was there to see our new president take the oath, to experience the surprise at the little stumble between him and the Chief Justice, along with everyone else. As I expected my face filled with tears while our president spoke. His words were eloquent, quiet, strong, and honest. His speech was everything I thought it would be, everything it needed to be.

Though I've seen it criticized in so places, I liked the inaugural poem in all of it's simplicity. It reflected everything I believe about our country where we are now, where we can go, every reason why I voted with such hope for Barack Obama. I loved this:

"In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light."

Talk about hope. Thank you, Elizabeth Alexander.

To me this is not about our country having overcome so much to elect a black man as president. For me it's having this intelligent, well-spoken, considered, thoughtful man as our president.

Although it would be wonderful to live in a world where:

"black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around...when yellow will be mellow... when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen."

And we can all laugh together with this old black gentleman who probably never thought he'd see this moment in his life. Amen.

My only disappointment was with the boos that accompanied President Bush. I don't agree with the man on so many things. However, I would prefer to follow the example of my new president, behaving graciously, maturely, and respectfully towards the man who did serve his country for the past 8 years. I thought of how bittersweet that helicopter ride over the mall must have been. How painful are dashed dreams and echoing boos?

I am hopeful our new president when his turn at that final helicopter rides comes, will still be triumphant, not battered, confident, not chagrined, and is able to turn and face the crowd with smiles able to savor his success before getting in that one last time.

A few of my favorite things...

When the dogs bite...



When the bees sting...



When I'm feeling sad...



I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad!

It's all part of the process, people... Just part of the process.

My day doesn't start until I have my latte in front of me. Or beside me if I'm on the computer. I may have just gotten the kids off to school. Or it may be as late as noon. I may have gone for a run, had a shower, and cleaned up the upstairs.

Officially, though, until this little gizmo

has warmed up and pumped and frothed, I haven't started my day. I love my coffee. But I don't just drink it to drink it.

I don't roll out of bed and stumble into the kitchen to brew the beans. I don't drink coffee in my bathrobe. Actually I don't have a bathrobe, which is beside the point, but I don't drink coffee in my jammies either. Before I get to have my coffee I have to get ready to move on with my day. I don't like finding my day gone before I've realized it's even started.

I make my bed, including all the little throw pillows (the R doesn't necessarily include putting on the 7 little pillows as making the bed when he does it). I shower unless I'm going for a run after walking the kids to school. I get dressed, dry my hair, put on a bit of makeup before going down the stairs to make breakfasts and lunches. If I don't do this invariably my hair will dry on it's own and be unstyleable until the next morning after my shower. Again, beside the point. But it's part of why I do things the way I do them.

My husband doesn't get my need for this type of trivial order any more than he understands the N wants the blue cup, J wants the yellow cup, M wants to green cup and NO ONE wants the pink cup ( I say, just let them drink out of whatever cups they want! Stop trying to mix it up.). He doesn't see that while I do know it doesn't really matter if the bed isn't made yet (yes I do know that the world will keep spinning regardless) it is something that is hanging over my head. It impedes my ability to relax and to savor the other aspects of my day. I'm a chores first, play later kind of person. I enjoy the playing so much more when I know I've done whatever else I needed to do.

Just like I enjoy the rich, creamy, foamy, cinnamon-y taste of my latte, still warm because I just made it and didn't have to run off to find the lunch boxes, remind people to find their hats, boots, and take home folders, run upstairs to find my watch, only to find the bed unmade, make the bed, run downstairs forgetting my watch, running upstairs again to get it,.... You see...I need routine. I need some order. That and my coffee time help keep me sane and in a little bit of peace with myself and my little corner of the world.

Yes, but she can cook...

When the N was in the 1st grade one of their big projects was to make a book about their family. Each page was a boiler plate of a question. The child wrote their answer to the question (such as "My dad is special because....") and illustrated the page. These books were bound and then presented to the whole class and their parents during their "author's tea" towards the end of the school year. Each child along with their parent(s) took turns up front. The child would read their book to their parent...and to the rest of the class. Awesome project. It was the first grade tradition at that school. It's a book we'll always treasure.

The N wrote about his dad playing catch with him. He wrote about playing hide and seek with his brothers. He wrote about how I make his favorite enchiladas.

Every year there is some sort of project where the boys write about their family. Apparently I don't leave the kitchen much. Besides snuggles, my contribution to the family and the world is that I "cook good food" for them.

While I do like to experiment and try new things while cooking. some of which work and some of which don't, I don't really consider cooking my "thing", the "thing" I do. It's certainly not memorable and it's not something that makes me feel competent.

When I worked I felt competent. I was a troubleshooter. I was a builder. For most of my career I wrote software for a very large image processing system that was used by various people to check on various things(it was classified, though now a small portion, a image analyst work station is on display at the Smithsonian by Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C.). I saw my code work to command hardware devices move data around until it reached the analyst's workstation for them to view. No one cared whether I could cook, wash clothes, or put a bandaid on a skinned knee. I didn't care either until I felt burned out and I told my boss all I wanted to do was go somewhere else to live my life and bake pies. Within a couple of years that's about what I chose to do, that and change diapers, push stollers, play rounds of mini-golf, and read I'll Love You Forever and crying before I could get to the middle of the book. Somewhere in there I did start cooking more...after all eating out with kids is a very different experience. I decided I preferred to stay home. So more emphasis was placed on cooking.

Over the years I've kept busy; busy with the organizations that serve my kids. And since it's been so long since I've actually worked in my field, I've become obsolete. Everything has changed. I feel it. I think that is why being identified as "a good cook" has such an impact on me. I"m an okay cook, who sometimes makes something quite yummy. But really I'm just okay. That's not how I want to be remembered. By anyone. I somehow need to define myself with things that I'm good at, things that challenge me.

I have a lot to learn. I've studied how to write the code for a web page, how to use tools to do the same thing. I like getting my keystrokes into the real code, though. Since I need to get myself in the position of earning a living in the near future I've tried to combine my learning with my volunteer work. Instead of using an excel spreadsheet to track yearbook orders (which is a simple solution to a simple problem) I've been building an order management system with order entry via web pages and storing the orders in a database. It's overkill for the task, by far, but I've felt vibrant. I have had to figure things out and solve problems. The kind of problems it's easy to tell if you've actually solved them. I've felt competent. I did something that I never did before and I can see the results right away.

It's not all about work. Certainly the best measure of me as a person will be me as a parent and me as a wife. Who I am for my kids, is to a large degree who I am. But it hasn't been enough. I need to be a person my kids can watch walking out the door at times, walking or running, to do my "thing". The things I do. Because I'm me. The J can ask the N, "Where's mom?". N would say "out doing her thing". Then the M could say,"She's doing her thing now, but she'll be home soon. And maybe she'll make a fabulous dinner."