tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16538275374730722012024-03-19T23:58:22.129-07:00all i am isJackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.comBlogger391125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-2283778577525270152012-10-30T09:50:00.002-07:002012-10-30T09:51:47.436-07:00that kind of mother (Part 2).I had every right to fear that skating party. At 5:15, 15 minutes before I was to pick Millie up, I got a phone call.<br />
<br />
Mom.....<br />
Millie? Is that you?<br />
Mom... i don't know where (deep breathing)....I can't (swallowing tears)... I don't know where anyone is?<br />
<br />
And with that it was established that Millie was still at Classic Skate. What?<br />
<br />
Stay there. Stay by a worker. Don't move. I'm coming now.<br />
<br />
I threw everyone in the car, Ellis and cousin Ella, while phoning birthday mom.<br />
<br />
Me: Where are you?<br />
B-Mom: Just pulling into the driveway.<br />
Me: Millie just called. She is still at Classic Skate.<br />
B-Mom: Millie is is still at Classic Skate?????<br />
Me. Millie is still at Classic Skate.<br />
B-Mom: I'm turning around. I'll go get her.<br />
Me: No. I will go get her. Take care of your birthday kids.<br />
<br />
And with that we were off. I sped, and I prayed, and I had Ellis pray. Don't move Millie. Don't go into the parking lot. Don't talk to strangers. Don't go to the bathroom. Don't take candy...... And it went on and on as I thought of all scenarios.<br />
<br />
Every what if.<br />
<br />
And there was traffic. Lots of traffic.<br />
<br />
By the time we pulled up, it had been 45 minutes that my 7 year old had been alone.<br />
<br />
We ran in and there she was. Sitting on the floor. In front of the ticket window. Jaw down to her chin. Eyes a bit swollen. Not looking up, slow to move.<br />
<br />
And we went through everything. What happened? What have you been doing? Who did you talk to? Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay?<br />
<br />
She was okay, and during the 30 minute return trip, she talked about how much fun she had before the leaving.<br />
<br />
I returned her to the party. It was over. Not officially. But over in terms of the invitation time. And I took her back. Because she deserved cake. And ice cream. And a party bag. And love. And recognition. <br />
<br />
The mom was mortified. But not enough. Because other than a hug, she spent the rest of the time on the phone, telling other people what happened, instead of talking to me. Talking to my daughter. Getting through this. And I had spent an entire afternoon bursting into tears.<br />
<br />
They had miscounted. 1 girl was dropped off by her mother, and took Millie's place in the car count.<br />
<br />
So yes. I am that kind of mother. A mother with 11 years experience chaperoning high schoolers. Taking other people's children to far fetched places and I would have double checked. And had I left a child I would have looked them in the eye. Given love, and attention, and made that child feel good. Really good.<br />
<br />
Any correlation with sequins? I'm finding myself hypothesizing. I don't want to make a judgement based on looks...<br />
<br />
but perhaps I should.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-57323736764454739752012-10-26T14:25:00.002-07:002012-10-30T09:52:03.372-07:00that kind of mother (Part 1).I just dropped Millie off. At a skate party. She's never been skating. What kind of a mother am I to have never taken her 7 year old skating? <br />
<br />
I don't know.
<br />
<br />
And as we drove up and saw the swarm of girls, not one did Millie know. And all of a sudden she refused to exit the vehicle. And I stood outside. by myself. wearing corderoy pants old enough to have lost their corderoy, and a baggy blue $5.00 turtleneck sweater that is brilliant at collecting those balls of wool. With a haircut that has not been trimmed by a professional in over a year, pulled back to attempt a semi-professional look that only works when viewing it via a webcam. Self-cut bangs that hang wrong, glasses down to the tip of my nose.
<br />
<br />
Standing by myself. Staring at not only this group of young girls, but their mothers, all perfectly couffed, make-uped, matching outfits that seemed to contain as many sequins as those of their girls. And they were perfection, glimmering in the shine of their Escolades.
<br />
<br />
Millie finally joined me, hiding behind my back, and I sent her off to interact with a tribe unlike my own.
<br />
<br />
Got in my car, returned to the mess that is home. Feeling overly inadequate and full of skating party fear.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-36187850811400674792012-01-25T18:45:00.000-08:002012-01-25T18:55:11.023-08:00listing my hereness.If I post in truth right now, it might be depressing. I tend to post during the blues, asking the keyboard to pull me into the yellows. So perhaps a list to limit the damage I might make in the world?<ol><li>I really, really loved <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVkla1N9tpQ">the muppet movie</a>. One of few movies I could watch over and over again.</li><li>I want people to burst into song in my own reality.</li><li>Maybe if I imagine people singing around me it will become reality.</li><li>I talk too much in class.</li><li>Did you know I'm working two jobs?</li><li>I'm also going to school full time.</li><li>Oh, and I'm attempting to retain the parenting.</li><li>However you should note that I've given up on cleaning and cooking.</li><li>Hoarders here I come!</li><li>This was fine until I learned my pay for this semester teaching one class online, 9 students (7 of whom are graduate level). Let's just say I cannot bring myself to calculate the actual hourly pay as it might break me into a thousand tiny pieces.</li><li>It's hard to find funding as a non-nurse in a nursing program.</li><li>Motivation is hard to come by. </li><li>Funding, grants, publishing, presentations are all non-required stressors because they are implied requirements outside of work and homework. </li><li>Diet Coke isn't the motivator it once was.</li><li>Neither are doughnuts.</li><li>I love it when Ellis says, "What the heck in the mud?"</li><li>Millie made me toast as my pre-birthday breakfast. It was good toast with peanut butter on top.</li><li>I want to crawl into bed and stay there for a week.</li><li>I don't want anymore requirements.</li><li>Michel Foucault can be so inspiring and so hard to grasp at the same time. And applying his thoughts to the dichotomy between the sciences and humanities in the way that is right and correct is leaving knots in my brain.</li><li>Mornings stink.</li><li>So do showers, until I'm actually in one.</li><li>Dear Facebook users - why do you post things that are completely offensive to me? </li><li>Dear Me - why can't you ever reply honestly to these posts?</li><li>Reading that back makes it seem like I'm offended by like R rated stuff. or whatever. Maybe I am. But people I know don't really go to there. I'm talking about politics and opinions.</li><li>I recommend <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Everyone-Hanging-Without-Other-Concerns/dp/0307886263/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1327545712&sr=1-1">Mindy Kahling's book</a>.</li><li>How do I have time to read this?</li><li>You are right - I don't. (Please see #12, 14, and 15 above)</li><li>Clin claims that Fantastic Sam's is perfectly acceptable for a major haircut.</li><li>I claim only for men, children, and trims.</li><li>He says it is just as good as the Paul Mitchell School.</li><li>Is that true?</li><li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Secret-HarperClassics-Frances-Hodgson-Burnett/dp/006440188X">The Secret Garden </a>pretty much rocks</li><li>but is impossible to read to a 4 year old </li><li>and only partially impossible with the 6 year old.</li></ol><p align="center"><em>Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world....but people don't know what it is like or how to make it. Perhaps the beginning is just to say nice things are going to happen until you make them happen.</em><br><em>~ The Secret Garden</em> by Frances Hodgson Burnett ~</p>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-78124890762491916252011-10-18T20:18:00.000-07:002011-10-18T20:35:23.708-07:00warm.I now own a heating pad. And my feet are full of joy. Beautiful invention.<br /><br />I'm hoping the warmth spreads. Every now and then I get the craving for something to inspire and excite. To feel something other.<br /><br />Like support. Warm support. Saying, "Awesome, so glad you are doing this, what a great choice, nice work, you can do this, don't give up, keep going, keep moving, this is for you."Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-67576926176302786442011-08-03T18:49:00.000-07:002011-08-03T21:30:20.195-07:00numb, with a slight paralysis of the shoulder.I'm posting.<br /><br />Today was hard.<br /><br />Not for me.<br /><br />For Millie.<br /><br />She's in 1st now.<br /><br />And the genius of Junie B. Jones is that it's almost real. Like looking in a mirror. At my daughter.<br /><br />1 week of school in. Full days. And she has turned into this talk-a-tive, non-listening, hyper child.<br /><br />Today I received my first phone call from the school. Panic attack, until I heard Millie's voice:<br /><blockquote><i>Mom. I need you to bring me a shirt. I spilled all over my shirt. Come now. I'm in the office.</blockquote></i>I'm there. And her shirt, yellow and new for the school year, had chocolate running down the front with a bunch of strawberry smatterings for highlight.<br /><br />Today was her first time purchasing school lunch. And her mother never taught her to drink from the chocolate milk cartons without a straw.<br /><br />And her teachers moved her desk. Why?<br /><blockquote><i>Because they said that it would be better for me.<br /></blockquote></i>What does that mean? Has she been misbehaving? Non-stop talking? A problem student?<br /><br />That wasn't the case last year. But all of a sudden her talking switch has been turned on, and every new person she meets tells me "she certainly likes to talk."<br /><br />And the girl that I know who so badly wants to get to pink, is bumped warning and then informs me:<br /><blockquote><i>When my teacher gets mad and says, "Millie this is your warning!", I just cross my eyes like this.</blockquote></i> And then she crosses her eyes. <br /><br />Wish she would do that with me. Instead, I get yelling, crying, screaming, door slamming, apologies that then meld back into our cycle 'o' fatigue. For I am sure that is the cause. Right? Right?<br /><br />I'm saying right. Cause it makes me feel better. And what if I hadn't been home today?Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-84595745027818046552011-02-21T21:09:00.000-08:002011-02-21T21:23:05.200-08:00missing you. you little blog you.seriously missing. but i fear that if i commit to other things, school will go down the tube. in particular? my stats grades, which includes 2 quizzes of 100%, and a practice midterm of 92%. that is right, there is hope for me in this numerical world. the real midterm (next week) threatens to beat me back down to my pre-semester humility. but i will admit that z-scores pretty much rock. that's right. i said it.<br /><br />so back to my fear of tubing, i'm committing a few seconds to note a couple of important observations that i pretty much love:<br /><ol><li>Millie says "I love you" to her friends all the time. And she gives them hugs. Without them saying it to her first. And she does it in public. Seriously - random I loves, to those with whom she interacts for perhaps five minutes once a week. Random love is like z-scores. Both cut out the confusion, jump to the point, in a language that all can understand. Basically both are just plain awesome.<br /><br /></li><li>Ellis has a bad habit. And it's kind of my fault. When frustrated, or worried, she enjoys saying, "dannit." Yeah. Not quite the articulation of her mother, but she's really working on it. And we are really trying to emphasize that darn-it is a much better word. And then she says, "we aren't supposed to say bad words. Dannit is a bad word. We shouldn't say dannit." And we'll say, that's right Ellis we don't say bad words. And she'll say, "Like dannit. Dannit is a very bad word. Millie we're not supposed to say dannit." And that will go on, because more than anything, repeating the word often in an attempt to explain its' badness is the ultimate goal. And I'll admit that's pretty awesome.</li></ol>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-53766230397312556912011-01-13T23:00:00.001-08:002011-01-13T23:04:02.002-08:00slow to start.What began as a very encouraging first week back in school has now turned into the traumatic, looming, forecasting of things to come. Really. I hear the haunting music in the background. Right now.<br /><br />Stats quiz #1 - 40%. Yeah for me!!!! I have two more chances to take the thing. However, the questions change with each try.<br /><br />And honest - I thought I had control of the content, otherwise I would have in no way attempted the quiz.<br /><br />Fear now ensues.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-40243151352880636872011-01-06T23:15:00.000-08:002011-01-06T23:15:00.100-08:00so proud...of my genes.<br /><br />Millie is getting the glasses. I thought that perhaps two negatives might make a positive. <br /><br />Clin - glasses in 1st grade<br /><br />+<br /><br />Jackie - glasses in 1st grade<br /><br />=<br /><br />Glasses in Kindergarten!!!!<br /><br />I sat in on the eye exam and was pretty surprised at how large the letters had to be for Millie to see them. And this is our gift to you. <br /><br />Millie sassed the optometrist. Yes she did. <br /><br /><em>I will NOT wear glasses.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I will NOT try on glasses.</em><br /><br />Even though she has 2 friends who wear glasses.<br /><br />She pointed to a picture of herself on the computer from last summer: <em>I want to be her.</em><br /><br />What do you mean?<br /><br /><em>I want to be me. Not with glasses.</em><br /><em></em><br />How does a 5 year old make the connection that glasses will change an individual? Where does that come from? The same conclusion that I made many years ago, when my self image was based on the idea that glasses decreased individual attraction. And worked an entire summer to save for contacts. That were supposed to make me less shy and increase beauty. <br /><br />It didn't work.<br /><br />She picked out some specs, and now looks for them in the mail everyday. Excited to wear them to see the MDT Review. Hoping it might make a difference in what she can see.<br /><br />I think they will make her completely awesome. When we chose baby names, Clin and I tried to choose names that we could envision on little girls with glasses. <br /><br />See. We planned it this way.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-45644577030373074272011-01-05T22:54:00.000-08:002011-01-05T23:15:01.878-08:00lazy.ah, the week before school begins. so nice in that it creates anticipation that encourages buckets of anxiety. and this semester it just so coincides with the week of my feminine cycle that holds the greatest amount of angst and hallucinations. fun times for all!<br /><br />Really.<br /><br />i had an entire "to-do" list that has been flushed and replaced with absolute nothings. like sleeping in. kind of. after laying awake all night thinking about:<br />-lousy tuition and how i'm going to make it a reality minus debt.<br />-or contemplating the hazards of leaving a full recycling bin out on the curb for a week, because we never seem to put it out on the right week. and it overfloweth. and is causing me turn to hording. newspapers and milk jug stacks in all crevices!<br />-or looking at the past seven years in detailed lists and realizing that i don't feel that much ahead of where i was in 2003.<br />-future job prospects, in that by the time this degree ends i'll be just about 40 and will anyone really want to hire a non-nurse gerontologist with a PhD in nursing?<br /><br />Probably not.<br /><br />So then I roll over and wait for my nasal passage to drain to the other side. ready for the one second of double nostril breathing that will bring a momentary reprieve.<br /><br />that is why I now blog. to do something other than review the files of anxiety that pile in this brain.<br /><br />so this week has been filled with lazy interactions with Millie - as she is off track for 2.5 more weeks. we work on letters, sounds, reading, games, and whisk Ellis from Silverpups to treats of Icees and library visits. Then afternoons spent running around high school auditoriums while watching rehearsals for <a href="http://clinspopblog.blogspot.com/">this</a>.<br /><br />and i've done the dishes. they get done. for now.<br /><br />next week will be deadlines, spaghetti-waffle dinners, and expectations gallore.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-17356786433499591862010-12-24T14:23:00.001-08:002010-12-24T14:31:08.058-08:00calm and bright. part 2.while still sick. and tired. oh so very tired. my night of misery evolved into a morning of joy.<br /><br />I finally returned to bed sometime between 5:30 and 6:00 AM - this was after having been awake since 3, and could not stop the tears, or calm down to sleep. So I layed in bed, eyes leaking.<br /><br />Clin woke around 6, and proceeded to lecture me on healthy behavior.... kind of ironic. I know. But in the early morning fatigue we both decided sleep was not an option and went downstairs to watch <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1305806/">this </a>- which we've had from Netflix since October 15th. What better time to conquer. Thinking it would force sleep upon me, I was wrong. <br /><br />I enjoyed it.<br /><br />And it calmed me down. And brightened my day. Because I wasn't so lonely. And it was the first time we've ever watched a movie at 6am.<br /><br />I'm thinking we have a new Christmas Eve tradition!<br /><br>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-25436131570842275692010-12-24T04:10:00.000-08:002010-12-24T04:27:10.353-08:00calm and bright.Here it is 5:00 AM, and I'm awake, thinking. Nose dripping. Tired. Sick. And awake.<br /><br />Which makes me think of my Dad. Do I have insomnia? The thought that plagues me everytime I have a night like this.<br /><br />(Or aphrodisiac, as I so clearly explained to family friends at a game night when I was in middle school. Or maybe it was high school. But that's normal to mix those two words. Right? Insomniac. Aphrodisiac. Same thing. Don't you see it?)<br /><br />And I was perusing the beautiful blogs, and saw a Christmas Card declaring "All is Calm, All is Bright." But it's not. And I'm not. I'm lonely. And sad. And I miss my family. I miss friends.<br /><br />It's my own fault. I don't have time for family. Or friends. Which is okay 90% of the time. Because I'm socially inept that way. (Or perhaps you could also say social insomniac. Or social aphrodisiac.)<br /><br />And I read these posts about people who live near their siblings, and trade children/get together/like each other on a daily basis and it makes me sad. I will never live by my siblings. And half the time I think they hate me because I mess up Christmas (sorry Lindy) and cause anger (sorry Kyle and Nathan and everyone else) and am not eloquent, funny, or much fun. And I would like to pick up and go visit them all but have this adversion to spending money (another reason I'm loving Christmas this year.)<br /><br />It's so much easier to connect with siblings who know me and all the negatives wrapped in that package. And perhaps still might be okay with that. But maybe they aren't.<br /><br />And now I'm just babbling.<br /><br />But same for Mom and Dad. Who fix things. That I can't.<br /><br />So merry, merry all. I'm going back to bed.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-12577368547581650802010-12-23T21:07:00.000-08:002010-12-24T03:22:02.216-08:00in the snow.One thing that I enjoy about blogs -- other peoples' blogs -- not my blog -- are the beautiful, vibrant, photoshopped pictures of the beautiful, vibrant, edited lives of lovely, articulate strangers. How easy it is to present life as a shimmering orb of perfection. And I like following shiny orbs. Or I like perfection. Particularly the glossy cover-art kinds.<br /><br />And I think it might be a fun hobby to attempt the creation of a snowglobe life filled with sparkling whimsy and splashy fun.<br /><br />But I can't write that way. If I did, though, you would now be reading about the crisp evening in a backyard covered in mounds of snow, pristine and untouched. Steam from the dryer vent adding a haze to the cloud covered sky, creating stage effects for our first attempt at throwing ourselves into such perfection.<br /><br />Small bodies stuck in drifts after each fall, as mother makes her way to save each one from the snow angels holding them hostage. Rolling out the snowman layers, creating snowball machines, eating the productions and starting over again.<br /><br />Frosty appearing underneath the large tree, without carrot, hat, scarf, or buttons but sculpting replicas out of the excess snow that just happens to be laying at our feet.<br /><br />And you might imagine an evening of perfection and beauty, within a snowglobe of our own.<br /><br />Until I admit that this is our first snowman. And I feel bad about that.<br /><br />And that is where I fall out of the orb, in that I am compelled to admit my guilt and complete lack of abilities of submitting my will to the needs of my children.<br /><br>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-26265673462692287742010-12-21T21:02:00.000-08:002010-12-21T21:07:36.354-08:00telling you - watch this.<iframe height="225" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/14803194?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0&color=cf9e69" frameborder="0" width="400"></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/14803194">Thought of You</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/woodward">Ryan J Woodward</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p><p>And a making of video with the choreophrapher - Kori Wakamatsu. I'm one of her biggest fans. (I consider her a friend too. Really. As in I know someone brilliant!)<br /><br /><br /><iframe height="225" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/16330140" frameborder="0" width="400"></iframe></p><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/16330140">Thought of You - Behind the Scenes Preview - ROUGH CUT</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user1510744">Cambell Christensen</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p><p>Did you see 2 of Clin's former students in that? Oh yes you did.</p><p> </p>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-64216890031036270752010-10-28T10:04:00.001-07:002010-10-28T10:13:01.955-07:00anxious and insecure.Perhaps it is the eggnog that I had for breakfast. I should not drink eggnog for breakfast. That is what I've learned this morning.<br /><br />But PhD studies is like a big fat mirror pushed really close to your face and you can see all of your pores, hair, and other exciting weaknesses.<br /><br />One of which is my inability to accept that I make mistakes. I know that I do, but I cannot handle it when other people think that I've made a mistake. Particularly when it was unintentional. No - particularly when it really wasn't a mistake, but is an assumed mistake on the part of the recipient. And I hate being misunderstood, because that is when I get really, really anxious that something bad is going to happen and have trouble breathing and it doesn't go away.<br /><br />You know - many of these misunderstandings happen via email, where I send out a message and get something highly unexpected in return...<br /><br />In the past my solution has often been to declare a decrease in the little socialization that I have. You know, ban myself from people. The thought of which calms me, but it never works because people keep unbanning themselves from me.<br /><br />So perhaps my solution needs to be more focused to email. However, I can't figure out how to actually ban myself from email without it hurting my grades, job, life. Insight anyone?Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-41098253844880774082010-10-11T19:05:00.000-07:002010-10-11T19:23:06.300-07:00posting for posterity.Two moments of recent happy:<br /><br />In a brash move to fight the non-cooking phase we are in, I decided to make some cinnamon rolls for Sunday morning breakfast. And since I'm not the early morning type, I made the dough the evening before.....and then forgot. Sometime around midnight I discovered the dough overtaking the kitchen and decided I should get it rolled out before bed.<br /><br />That is when Ellis awoke and happened upon my rolling bliss. And we worked together rolling dough, spreading butter, and sprinkling the sugar.<br /><br />Then Millie awoke. And after a few tears of anger upon the post sprinkled discovery, she helped roll, cut, and throw the rolls into pans.<br /><br />And who knew, but midnight baking is fun. And no one fought. Nor was there a rush to return to homework, or naps, or places. A new tradition is born.<br /><br />Moment #2:<br /><br />As told to us by Granny Lany -<br /><br />Ellis and Millie eating lunch at the counter. Ellis burps loudly.<br /><br />Millie says: That's the girl I'm going to marry!<br /><br /><br />There. Posted. Never to be forgotton.<br /><br /><br>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-9591495664413979042010-08-29T21:13:00.000-07:002010-08-29T21:26:27.814-07:00schooled. Week 1.Orientation began at 8:00 AM last Monday and ended at 4:00 PM Friday. And every hour was scheduled. I was home around 10 every night and left at 6:30 AM each morning.<br /><br />How strange to see my children a total of 10 minutes awake. Or what seemed like 10 minutes.<br /><br />What I learned in my first week attempt at PhD:<br /><p>- I'm vulnerable.</p><p>and have very thin skin. One reason I wanted to stop auditions was the call back. Where you return and perform in front of your competition. last week was a callback. Not that I perceive my fellow students as competition. But it still had a callback feel. Particularly by the end of the week when I was very, very tired. I tend to think of this as my hallucination period.</p><p>Kind words can bring me to tears.</p><p>So can smiles. and familiar friends from the past.</p><p>I did nothing at my house last week. And if it weren't for some amazing parents, I don't know what we would have done. Not only was the house clean, dishes put away, family fed, but my daughters were schooled, homework completed, and lawn mowed without a finger lifted by me.</p><p>It was insane how kind and giving my parents were. And now that they are gone (refusing my cries for them to move in and take care of me until my vulnerable period ends)....I am on my own.</p><p>So I will continue to claim hallucinations until my skin thickens a bit. And I stop perceiving unfounded emotions from others. Or opinions of me.</p><p>Because I will just continue to tell my psyche:<em> this is not middle school. this is not middle school. this is not middle school.</em></p>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-19713173692951475712010-08-15T19:18:00.000-07:002010-08-15T19:18:00.213-07:00a big, fat, piece of cake.Yes I am. And whenever I feel like dessert I want to eat more. And then it becomes this mad circle that spirals into a slow motion life of little motivation.<br /><br />That's right, and top on my no-motivation list? Scrapbooking. Hair. Getting out of bed. Showers. Cleaning. Brushing my teeth. Cooking. Dishes.<br /><br />And then my resentment increases at others for sitting while I have to move. Because. I. don't. want. to. move.<br /><br />To fight this? I made lemon squares AND Halfway cookies yesterday. Today I plan on making the homemade oreos.<br /><br />But I have a really good reason. Payment for the substitutes in primary. 36 instructors equals a lot of subs. And the few who actually say yes to subing are getting burnt out.<br /><br />So my evolution into dessert will be shared, so that the majority of these feelings will not end up in my stomach. But on someone else's doorstep.<br /><br />And then I will go back to bed.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-23918080706563616652010-08-14T20:50:00.000-07:002010-08-14T20:50:00.214-07:00pondering my stance on beards.Except I really love the fact that my brother has a beard. And I hope he never goes without. It fits him. You know? <br /><br />And my first thought in seeing a new picture of him on facebook with a trimmed out beard was:<br /><blockquote>I need to share this feeling of beard satisfaction with the world. </blockquote>My uncle has always had a beard. And I like that too.<br /><br />However, I'm really glad that Clin is without.<br /><br>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-62640726070695553802010-08-13T21:07:00.000-07:002010-08-13T21:07:00.535-07:00set straight.Millie loves to try on clothes. On her terms.<br /><br />They must sparkle.<br /><br />And spin.<br /><br />In an attempt to get her to branch out and try some jean shorts:<br /><br />Me: Barbie! Come and try these one.<br /><br />Millie: I'm not Barbie. I'm a rockstar.<br /><br />A rockstar who refuses jean shorts.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-13320263111861702162010-08-12T21:01:00.000-07:002010-08-12T21:07:04.027-07:00looking for space in the freezer.30 meals in 1 day.<br /><br />Yes I did.<br /><br />And i turned 9 of those into double for a grand total of 39.<br /><br />That equals 10 meals per month. For the next 4 months. That's the plan.<br /><br />Outside of that it's pb&j.<br /><br />or cereal.<br /><br>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-12029594387477380932010-08-05T19:00:00.000-07:002010-08-05T19:46:31.855-07:00going to kindergarten.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbQjIQoAIVhvWuPMiQ9EtPHSqX7l6CAIzvtez4lWdxBLcVbEeJspR0d0pV7fL0zVrPviB7EOoUkJIrHImA4VNdXJqBUji462FMxL5QsarN81X7hOg34TO57N-nxkep8B5g_BywDOsWIqD/s1600/Millie1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 106px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502122212447242290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbQjIQoAIVhvWuPMiQ9EtPHSqX7l6CAIzvtez4lWdxBLcVbEeJspR0d0pV7fL0zVrPviB7EOoUkJIrHImA4VNdXJqBUji462FMxL5QsarN81X7hOg34TO57N-nxkep8B5g_BywDOsWIqD/s400/Millie1.jpg" /></a> <div>So Tuesday was the day. Summer officially over. And in our anticipation we set out her clothes the night before. 7:30 am, who should peek into our room?<br /><br />Millie. Fully dressed. And ready to go.<br /><br />Me: When did you get dressed? Have you been up for awhile?<br /><br />Millie: No. I slept in them.<br /><br />I still haven't established when she and how she accomplished this, because at midnight she was still in the p.j.'s.<br /><br />Of note on the first day of the kindergarten:<br /><br />--push chairs in when the teacher calls you up.<br /><br />--Don't throw bark.<br /><br />--If you can't get on the swing by yourself then you are not old enough to swing.<br /><br />And we have been practicing the hand motions required for requesting use of the bathroom. All day.<br /><br />Millie and I plan on implementing these rules with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Clin</span>.<br /><br /><br /></div>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-59655163005238015762010-08-01T19:11:00.001-07:002010-08-03T19:50:10.293-07:00checking in.<div><div>Here it is the beginning of August. Let's see if I've done anything that I planned to do as of my last post. Because the plan was to be done by August 1st. And focus on my girls. Solely on my girls.</div><br /><div>Scrapbooking the first 3 years of my girls lives - I have not started. However, my evenings will be free these first few weeks of August, and slapping some glue on some pics and throwing them in binders will be the minimal goal and I will get this done. And I continue to ask, <em>why do I dread this so?</em></div><div></div><br /><div>Update my online Research Course for Fall - Done. Almost. The finishing touches are going on tonight. No matter how late I need to stay up. But in the mad prepping of the past two weeks I learned something awesome. BYU has copy machines in their library that allow you to scan to your email. So instead of wasting all of my coins? I completely mastered the free world of scanning. Seriously, awesome.</div><br /><div></div><div>We met Millie's teacher. And guess what? She assigned homework. Millie's first homework. And here is the result. All ready for the first day of class.</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 217px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501378641833439170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4T1T063nS78vfm-TAPs4SQq0wXA35ScjhZ-fmTboIEujVaUFK1iD5vYvJ9PVFM9MXHvTvTerYTc1kOO6DHDpXttHEQx4ku51gyNTcn7pzE4_tNqRC2phUsVkz6exJnKCKEaU6aiEqjGa7/s320/P1010382.jpg" /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>It's supposed to be Millie. And she did it all herself, cutting, pasting, coloring. The only thing that I did was tie the bow on top. But she placed it. Very Project Runway, don't you think?</div><br /><div></div><div>As for that Wallace Stegner novel? Scratched. Because I have homework. 3 weeks until school starts, yet I have articles and a nice thick book to read.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 164px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501380769535297506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4CGsM3nR1NEoZgoVpCh-x3fem5ytWOtOITRfrmK7BF-_zHGDNXwRvIqLf9fOw3Ka2QT-iS5Vn5cvaiNgfJVhZHyNo5yvzVs4fek1glY2ZHCOfJTcD-lP6aDfOlRwV8asxDENxXZsWYew/s320/lacks.jpg" /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>So Stegner will have to wait 3 or 5 years. But at least <a href="http://rebeccaskloot.com/the-immortal-life/">this assigned book </a>is one I've been wanting to read.</div><br /><div> </div></div>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-38372829740853015722010-07-10T20:57:00.000-07:002010-07-10T21:10:51.994-07:00in mourning...for the life that was full of potential but never realized. <br /><br />doesn't returning to your childhood haunts do that to you? <br /><br />it makes me sad. every time. and i think of things. like how in first grade i visited Portland, and then wrote that <span style="font-style: italic;">i did not see shark meat, avocados, or policemen on horse</span> in really great handwriting. <br /><br />my mom and my sister said it was really great hand writing. for first grade.<br /><br />and i think. at that time. what potential was seen? and was it realized?<br /><br />not fully. i'm sure. or at all in the manner imagined.<br /><br />kind of sad.<br /><br />and now. <br /><br />the time spent with my girls is coming to an end. and i'm sad. <br /><br />for i had a vision of the potential of that time. and it wasn't fully realized. <br /><br />and i also really want that family that all lives near one another. so i can abuse privileges by utilizing the safety of cousins and comfort of siblings to shield me from anxiety and fear.<br /><br />i've never had that. reliable, automatic, adult friends through family to hang out with on a school night.<br /><br />but then again, i don't like people. and would probably en anger some. <br /><br />and then i would have to apologize.<br /><br>Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-78611855322976458982010-06-30T20:00:00.000-07:002010-06-30T20:00:00.152-07:00quoted and red. part 2.So I created the title for yesterdays post. got poetic. and drifted from the intended topic.<br /><br />I thought I should share the quote that got whisked away. Far from perfect. Doesn't really fit me. But alas, it's done.<br /><br /><em>Laughter is much more important that applause. Applause is almost a duty. Laughter is a reward.</em><br />~Carol <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Channing</span><br /><br />I will be honest. I finally just thought, what do I like? And Carol <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Channing</span> always pops into my head when I utter these 4 words. So I found a very Carol quote for my time of need. And while I agree. I don't think it truly fits my me-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">ness</span> at this time in my life.<br /><br />But you see, this is what happens when one is toasted. Red. From a day at Seven Peaks. And completely embarrassed at the fact that I'm being forced to purchase a new swimsuit bottom. <br /><br />I spent a good 6 hours trying to hide the fact that what used to be my cute, sassy (and might I add flirty?) swimsuit skirt turns into an uneven, unflattering, evening gown when wet.<br /><br />Seriously. And rolling it into the waist cannot hide the the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">atrocity</span>.<br /><br />You see, bras and swimsuits are in the same category for me. Purchase one every 10 years, and forget about it. Because shopping for these items is a pain. One that should be banished to once a decade. If that.<br /><br />Unless it's a swim skirt that doesn't hold it's elastic past 2 or 3 years. Which forces you to swim in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">embarrassment</span> or shop before ready.<br /><br />So right now? Laughter is not a reward. Only a reminder of those 6 hours. With no place to hide.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653827537473072201.post-57492160022642042972010-06-29T21:43:00.000-07:002010-06-29T21:59:36.463-07:00quoted and red.so i have some very intelligent friends. and it sounds like we all need to grab us a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Crossing-Safety-Modern-Library-Classics/dp/037575931X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277873123&sr=1-1">wallace stegner </a>novel. stat. <br /><br />which i will. because i have a plan. <br /><br />july: update future classes. finish updating all photo albums. 5 years worth. for there will be no time for photos for 5 more years come the end of august.<br /><br />august: focus. on. two. things. plus a little bit more. for august will be the end. of life. as. we. know. it. kindergarten begins. and i will not work for the first two weeks. only walks to school. and bonding. and a lingering with the final whisperings of toddler-ness. and weekends shall be devoted to freezing meals. 8 months worth. for that will be the next time that i might breathe long enough to cook.<br /><br />and perhaps. somewhere. sometime. i can throw in a bit of wallace. just for fun. for fall will shroud all reading with discipline and learning. and novels will be replaced with responsibility. and due dates.Jackshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10120524363335221307noreply@blogger.com1