Happy New Year...

Here we are, the last day of August. The end of summer always feels like New Year's to me, a time to shed the old lazy habits of summer and start a little buckle-down-and-get-it-together phase. (ahem...like getting back to posting on a blog after a no-excuses absence, she says, whistling nonchalantly...) Everything about summer feels lazy and languid; even the footwear hugs the ground a little longer with every flip and flop. An over-scheduled summer, desperately squeezing in every possible bit of entertainment before the days get shorter, can somehow seem slow and drawn out. I'm tired of relaxing under the big beach umbrella of summer. Last year at this time I wrote of the sheer potential that the coming season brings, and I can smell it as if it were a fresh-baked pumpkin pie cooling on a window sill.

Summer's end seems to make us all feel like we missed something, like we didn't get to that one place that would erase all the year's stress and crazy. Whether it's caused by a missed tradition because of changing times or a bad gamble on a new vacation spot, we come away from the heat of August thinking we blew our chance before time ran out. Even those of us not (yet) affected by the clang of the school bell feel like the sand has hit the bottom of the hourglass. I found myself sinking into that mindset earlier this week, and I forced myself right out. Yes, there are quite a few things I didn't get to this summer, like visiting the zoo or our favorite amusement park--things we talked about many times during the last few months but just didn't make happen. But I didn't sit idly by and waste the extra daylight.

I kicked it off with our annual beach vacation in Delaware--the one that, as of June last year, seemed like it wouldn't happen. Some traditions are just too painful to watch slip away, and even though there have been some changes in the last few years, this trip is one to hold on to. It's treasured time spent with treasured people. I'm clinging to it as long as I can.

I set a goal at the beginning of the year to read thirty books by the beginning of the next, and I put myself eight books closer to that goal during the last three months. Fiction and non, pop culture and cultural studies, memoir and essays. I explored them all. Only eleven more to go...

Because of limited resources and lack of substantial time off from our jobs, we couldn't really venture off to discover anywhere distant and new so we decided to explore our local offerings and stay close to home...whew. That was a lot of typing. I could've just told you we had ourselves a "staycation". Have I ever mentioned that I am not a fan of trendy, made-up vocabulary that inspire people to use air-quotes? Hmmm. I get it now. We visited the nearby town of Jim Thorpe and rode the train that wound down through a scenic gorge, took our girl to see a butterfly sanctuary, and splashed around in the falls at Slateford Farm. These little day trips gave us quality time and memories with each other and helped us appreciate our neck of the woods a little more than we already do.

I took advantage of the weather, early sunrise, and my still-sleeping housemates and began getting myself out of bed to walk two miles (almost) every morning. I found time for myself, something that does not come easily anymore. The combination of solitude and exercise helped me build up my immune system to fight against any blues that might have been trying to take over. And they did try to take over with force. I won.

I took my bestie to see Sheryl Crow rock it out. You know those party questions: what famous person would you want to have dinner with, blah blah? Well, I want to have Sheryl not just as a dinner guest but in my bestie circle. I don't have many inspirational figures outside of my personal posse of family and friends, but she is one of them. There she was, making us sing and dance in the summer night air after flying home to get her kid to school. A memorable night, and not just because I mistakenly sat in a stranger's car afterward. Yep, I sure did.

The last three months were far from wasted time. Yes, I worked more days than I had off, and yes, I didn't get to some things on my stuff-I'd-like-to-do list. I'm ready to let it go and pack up my tired summer self with the beach toys. I'm ready to begin my personal new year. I just won't be wearing flip flops.

Three is a magic number...

After a nightmarish holiday season in retail, I've been blessed to have a lighter workload the last few weeks. No holidays means less running around, shopping, cleaning, and complaining about how I have too much to do, and more time spent just hanging out with my daughter. Days off have been occupied with Legos, costumes, tea parties, and tending to "sick" stuffed animals. (Oh, and potty training. Endless potty training.) Envy and regret have reared their ugly heads--envy of the stay-at-home moms out there and regret that I didn't make sure I was in a position to be a stay-at-home mom if that's what I wanted to be.

My little one turned three less than two months ago. Three is a magic number, indeed. The girl I knew disappeared. I was not prepared for the transformation. Before the smoke cleared away from her little birthday candles, she had gone from helpless to independent, from sweet to sassy. She is ready for her debut, to show the world all she has learned in her short time here and to take her bows for all of her hard work. But the changes in her aren't the only thing knocking me off of my parenting pedestal; it's the adjustments I am having to make to accommodate her growth spurt.

Up until now, raising my daughter has been mostly maintenance, keeping her fed, warm, dry, and out of trouble. Steering her clear of things she didn't know to avoid, like too much sugar and hot radiators and bad television (sorry, Barney and Dora.). A little light education, like vocabulary and the arts and basic etiquette. If I wasn't sure about something, I could reference one of the hundreds of toddler advice books to move me along. But now each day's lessons are becoming more abstract. How to teach a little girl how to be confident but humble? Polite and considerate yet assertive? Brave but cautious? There's no such parenting manual.

I want my girl to be blissfully satisfied in life always. Most of all, I suppose, I want her to be secure in who she is. Comfortable in her own skin, no matter what that means for her. I want her to always be aware of her role in her life and the lives of others, and to understand her motives and directions. Kindness and confidence will come from this, and she will shine no matter where she goes. I am faced with climbing a steep hill to get her there, and I don't know if I am the best one for her to be tethered to, since I am still trying to get myself there. How do you teach things you haven't yet learned yourself?

Perhaps I'm overthinking. I will try to just go with my gut and get her to the top as best I can, and enjoy today hoping I haven't screwed her up too much for tomorrow. For now, three is a magic number. She is a self-proclaimed rock star one day, a superhero the next. Maybe I shouldn't be worried about getting her ready for the world. I should hope the world is ready for her.

What's tomorrow?

There's too much pressure in this post, the last of the year. I feel as if I need to make some profound summary of the past twelve months, proclaiming lessons learned from the good and the bad that 2011 dished out. But I'm only here out of obligation...and fear of regret that I didn't ceremoniously wrap it up. So I'll give it a go.

When I lived alone, I would take great pains to reflect and resolve at New Year's. I would enjoy the silence and settle in under the luxurious weight of another year that was devoted to...me. I would look forward to the next cycle with renewed optimism and go to bed happy that the chalkboard had been erased and was ready for new scribbles. Now? I don't really have the energy. I am happy to just go to bed with that chalkboard illegible and dusty, as long as I'm in bed putting the day behind me.

I spend most of my days wishing for tomorrow. If I'm at work, I'm counting the minutes until I can go home. When I'm home, I'm picking out clothes and lunches for the next work day. If it's a day off, I'm looking for the next one to get to the end of the never-ending to-do list. It's appalling how much of my time is spent wishing it away. And now that the year is a mere 93 minutes from its end, I'm looking for the ball to drop so I can get on with the new one already. Control issues are a wondrous thing, no? I've tricked myself into thinking I can be prepared for anything if I just spend all my time waiting for it to get here.

My daughter may have picked up this bad habit. Every night as I tuck her in she asks, "What's tomorrow?" She needs to go to bed knowing who will be with her the next day, who will play with her, teach and protect her. I always answer and she goes to bed assured that she has another day coming, one that won't surprise her because she has a handle on it. I will put another deposit in her future therapy fund.

I have no idealistic projections for the new year. No lofty goals in the spotlight of squeaky-clean optimism. My only resolution is to not ignore today. I know I will keep up my prep work. I will always try to be ready for tomorrow, provided that I'm fortunate enough for it to come, but not at the expense of the here and now. Forget the erasers; I'm losing the chalkboard altogether. I won't be tempted to be lost in a haze of chalkdust from frantic list-making.

I am still looking forward to going to bed just after midnight. But I have this minute right here to sign off and sit with my husband, listening to my girl snoring in the next room. What's tomorrow? We'll have to wait and see...

Gratitude...

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, hands down. There are no gifts to buy, no budgets to break, no religious overtones. There are no Thanksgiving carols to hear incessantly or horrible photos of silly outfits or bad pajamas and morning hair. It's the stripped-down, acoustic version of holidays, where we all just get together and talk and eat. The best thing about it is the sentiment behind the day, the stop-everything-for-two-seconds-and give-thanks part. Everyone groans when that one relative suggests taking time to go around the table and say what we're all thankful for...well, yeah, we just want to eat. But I'm secretly clapping under the table because, as much as I want to dig my fork into that stuffing, I'm a true believer in keeping the "thanks" in Thanksgiving.

I know it's a few days early, but us retail workers get pretty overwhelmed this time of year. So I'm going to make my gratitude list now while I have the time and energy. Everyone always lists their friends and family as the things they are thankful for; I always felt people should dig deeper. (And if you aren't grateful for your friends and family, you probably need them more than you know.) Everyone's experiences and daily lives move along because of such personal, relative things. Our Thanksgiving lists should reflect them, no? But when I originally sat down to make my list following my rules, I realized why people stick with the old tried-and-true answer...it's a challenge to come up with anything else. It's worth trying, so here goes:

I'm thankful for...
my village. They say it takes a village to raise a child, and for two working parents, this couldn't be more true. I am eternally grateful for my mother- and father-in-law, who give me the ability to work without worry. I am grateful to my mother, who makes my daughter light up with joy. And grateful for the countless others who help my husband and I guide our girl along with their encouragement and love. (Maybe this counts as cheating by listing my family as one of my blessings, but when they go above and beyond, they need a shout-out.)
my cheerleaders. Everyone needs them, no matter how self-sufficient you think you may be. I realized this year that I need them more than I cared to admit. An encouraging word goes a long way,
whether it comes directly from a friend or inspirationally from a stranger. I am thankful for the kind inquiries when my girl wasn't feeling well, which reminded me I was not helpless. Thankful for the interest and compliments on this little blog, which made me feel validated. Thankful for strangers' blogs, for giving me inspiration and fresh approaches to old issues. And thankful for the unsolicited, sincere how-are-you's from new voices, that made me feel especially cared for.
my conveniences. Mother Nature has played a little rough this year. Although in our house we have been very lucky, there are a lot of my friends and neighbors who weren't so fortunate. I no longer disregard the simple things that become not-so-simple when they are gone, like lights and water. I am thankful for electricity, transportation, and basic infrastructure. For my computer, my television, my cellphone, my car. And I am knocking on wood as I type.
my town. I've made mention of it before, but having a sense of home is so important to me. To take a walk and greet my neighbors, to know landmarks and history, and to watch my daughter discover the streets where we stroll and the forests where we hike. Roots are beautiful things, wherever they are. I'm glad mine are here.
my simple miracles. They're all around, every day. My daughter's morning breath. My husband's hand resting on my knee as we watch tv. The smell of my first cup of coffee and Bean's cinnamon apple oatmeal in the morning. The softness of my bed's sheets and pillow after a particularly long day. The shelter of my car after running through the rain. The sound of my girl splashing in the bathtub. The squeak of the back door when my husband arrives home safely. I could list a thousand more. We are all blessed to have our small things, that aren't really so small, that fill each day and routine. I'm grateful to have the day to think about them.

My grandmother used to say the most beautiful word in the English language is compassion, and really, who could argue? But I think gratitude could maybe place just ahead of it on the list. The act of focusing on what we have to be thankful for can instantly hush all the unruly noises in our heads. Anything that can do that these days is truly something for which to be grateful. Now let's start eating...

Shoosh...

Well, hello. I know--it's been awhile since I've been here. I think my subconscious was telling me to shoosh for a bit. There are so many of us out here, blogging away, that it just gets too noisy for me. We all get stuck in our heads and rattle around in our thoughts so much that everything becomes a set-up for the tale we plan to tell when we sit at our keyboards...and we forget to just relax and enjoy.

So I shooshed and enjoyed.

I spent quality time with my family, trick-or-treating and playing in leaves, hiking and imagining. A best friend gave birth to a miraculous baby girl and we celebrated with so much joy our cheeks hurt from smiling. Prep work has begun for the holidays and a certain sweet girl's third birthday party, which is coming faster than her mama can wrap her head around it. We were blanketed in a surprise snowfall, and surrendered to the reality of winter's fast arrival. And, as always, I ran errands, cleaned, worked, and shopped...usually with a patient toddler in tow.

In the midst of all this, I found some old friends waiting to entertain me: books, music, and television. I missed those friends. Staying away from the blogosphere gave me time to invest in them, and they welcomed me back with open arms and didn't disappoint. I listened to the Civil Wars, who gently guided me home after work each night. I read The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, which made me aware of things I suppose no one wants to learn but, after the last page, you feel grateful for having been taught. Smart, short new sitcoms like "The New Girl" and "Up All Night" took the place of reality tv, and made me laugh after long days of chores and work and little tantrums. (These shows may be more enjoyable because they are accompanied by a cup of cocoa and a slice of shoo-fly pie. Maybe the ratings people should come up with a way to market that.)

But now I am back clacking away on the keys because I started this thing and I will keep it going. I realize it's important to share when something is felt to be worth sharing, but it's equally important to shoosh and savor the moments. Not everything has to be stated or explained right away. Once again, it all comes down to balance. Equal parts shooshing and sharing. Except for the pie and cocoa...they're all mine.

Minding the gap...

My sweet Nana, who lived well into her nineties, used to tell me how she would forget how old she was until she caught herself in a mirror. Her reflection would surprise her, she said, because in her mind she was always decades younger. She would forget how time was tracking her down and changing her outside of her thoughts...that is, until an ailment or trip to the doctor would remind her. Then she would always sigh and say "Don't ever get old. It's terrible." None of this made sense to me. I would wonder how one could not always be absolutely aware of her age, and, really, why wouldn't I want to get old? We get older every day, every minute. What's the alternative? Yep, death. And who wants that?

Ok, Nana, you win. I get it.

Today is my birthday. My forty-second birthday, to be specific. And while I certainly don't want to stop the aging process for fear of the alternative, I would like it to slow down a bit and let me catch up. Give me a minute to absorb the fact that I can't stay up until one a.m. and not regret it the next day. Let me have a few days to wrestle with the fact that I have no idea what certain slang terms mean, or who half of the "celebrities" on the pages of my InStyle magazine are (I will assume most are from the Disney channel or vampire shows and will rely on my daughter to fill those gaps for me in the years to come.) I will need at least a month to stop doing before-and-afters in the mirror, pulling my neck up tight to remind me of what it used to look like. Give me a mourning period for my youth, and let me attempt to embrace where I am now.

I, too, forget how old I am until I see my reflection. I am perpetually twenty-something until I catch myself in the eyes of the girls shopping next to me in Forever 21. Then I am painfully reminded that I am not one of them. I need to move along to Chico's with the rest of the moms while the kids feed that youth demographic all the consumer reports talk about. I'm not quite there yet, girls. But I get it. I'll stick to my side of the generation gap. Just remember to listen to your grandmothers.

Classes have begun...

Here we are, September at last. The time of year where everyone asks where did the summer go, how did it pass by so quickly? I am always ready for it. In June, I am excited for summer and the beach, sunshine and bare toes. By mid-August the trip to the beach is far behind me, my feet are mad at me for mistreating them in flip flops, and I am finished with sleeping with the windows closed for fear the air-conditioned air will escape. Everyone seems cranky and panicked, trying to get the last few days' worth of quality summer fun before it's too late. I say pack up the inflatable pool and bring on the pumpkin-flavored coffee, the fresh night air, and fisherman sweaters.

August was a month of uncontrollables, of a multitude of events and occasions that proved to be challenging from all angles. A family reunion of sorts, a baby shower, christening, sickness and recovery, and too much weather kept me filled with nervous energy. I moved from day to day, finishing one task or challenge to move on to the next, and crawled into bed tired and low on motivation. So goodbye, August. You've worn out your welcome.

Even though my last first day of school was too many years ago, I've never lost that back-to-school vibe, that smell of potential in the air. Potential to start fresh and be that go-getter I just know is in there waiting to burst out all over everyone and everything. Armed with new clothes and blank pages in composition books, I will take it all on. I will raise my hand in class every day at least once, I will not hide behind third base in gym class praying the ball doesn't reach me. I will stop letting life just happen to me.

It's still there. I'm more cynical than that idealistic schoolgirl, and I'm a little worn from wear, but I still feel like I fueled up on optimism somewhere and am getting ready for the new year. September is my birth month and I look at my new age as my next grade or semester in the "school of life". And just like when I was in school, my enthusiasm will fade quickly, only this time I have a daughter to help me kickstart it back up again. I want her to pick up on this feeling, to look forward to new beginnings and fresh starts. To not dread the experience of learning, be it in a classroom or elsewhere.

So I'm saying farewell to summer, even though there are technically a few weeks left, and I'm gearing up for the new season. I'm making my mental lists of books to read and looking for a new haircut. I am preparing for the onslaught of birthdays and holidays by setting a budget. I am looking forward to potty training (well, sort of. Let's say I'm looking forward to no diapers.). I am taking charge of the things I can control and making this life thing a collaboration instead of a one-sided affair. I will sit in the center of the classroom instead of the back row. And I will start daydreaming of next year's summer vacation...