The View

I've been thinking lately about "the view." When I visited my grandparents in Florida, they always took great pains to find a restaurant with a beautiful, unique view. We always took a table by the window in order to admire the scenery.

My best friend, when she visits from Japan, also encourages me to find a restaurant with a beautiful view. We once enjoyed a picnic inside of a vine-covered gazebo in the middle of a beautiful garden. We ate tree-ripened peaches, freshly-baked bread and cheese made from unpasteurized milk (I haven't been able to top this picnic experience yet).

My great-grandmother loved to drive and look at the lights at Christmas time. She loved the circus and the spectacle of the lady in white riding an elephant. I suppose as one ages and freedom is restricted, we further savor the ability to travel.

Yesterday I took two of our young adults and one of the younger boys out for a drive. We visited several of my favorite local spots. I wanted to linger by the lake, to sit for awhile in a shady garden and to climb the steep stairs down to the river in order to see the fish and the rocks at the bottom. They, however, were "finished" with most of the sites by the time I'd begun to settle in.

I hope to teach them that "the real thing" is better than any picture or postcard. I also hope that, at a minimum, they remember a few of their mom's favorite views.

Clara's Recovery

I've been thinking lately about the children's story, Heidi, by Johanna Spyri, trying to recall details. It has been many, many years since I read the book or viewed the Shirley Temple version of the movie (I'm super excited to see that the Swiss released an updated movie version in 2015).

Apparently, my childhood "take away" from the story was that "goats milk and fresh air make you healthy."

I'd forgotten about wheelchair bound Clara, Peter's jealous behavior and the book's religious theme (I'm determined to re-read the story, however. It's now en route thanks to Amazon. I've also promised to read the story with the younger boys who sheepishly admitted that they'd never heard of Heidi).

We recently purchased a milking French Alpine goat and her doe kid.

Milking is coming along. I'm learning how to feed her properly and to reduce her stress (she is a Nervous Nelly - wary of the dog, cats, moving objects...). I look forward to the daily 6 p.m. milking hour.

Her milk is beautifully white and creamy. I add it to my coffee and pour it over cereal.

The internet tells me that goat's milk has many health benefits, not the least of which is reducing inflammation.

Call me crazy but I sense that her milk is already helping us to feel more energetic. It could also be the fresh air of spring (we won't count yesterday's May 15th snowflakes).

Fresh air + goat's milk + springtime = pure joy.

A Bucket of Wings for Dinner

This week Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad offered to take on ALL of the after-school and dinner-making duties (this is my position when he is working out of town). It was an exceptionally busy week for me at work: income tax deadline at the accounting firm and my thesis defense. Additionally, I'm searching for a "real job" now that my degree is complete so I've been spending a good deal of time interviewing and applying.

When Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad (WBWD for short) is finally working from his home base, he plays catch up from the weeks he spends away. He has also tried to juggle extra projects at home and several doctor/dentist appointments that needed to be squeezed into his schedule.

This week's pace of life bears a striking resemblance to some of the "peak weeks" I've experienced while he has been away. These are the weeks when life throws a little extra my (our) way, like freak accidents (a truck ramming in and through a wall at school, for instance). Birthdays, concerts, school dances, bills, broken doors, sick pets....an "all inclusive," exceptionally exhausting week.

Last night I came home to a familiar scene...familiar because I have reached these depths in my darkest hours. Not a clean dish in the kitchen (dirty dishes piled so high they were about to topple), loads and loads of clean laundry to fold on the dining room table, and very little real food in the fridge. Mr. WBWD had taken the kids out for a dinner to the local diner for a bucket of wings (exactly what I would have ordered at my lowest moments when the boys know I have little resistance left). He was trying to watch a hockey game but couldn't stay awake (this looks like me on the bed, trying to read my homework, fully asleep with books spread across the mattress)(I also snore).

Today I teach and then run to the winery for a "second shift." Tomorrow morning I'll be back at the winery for an all-day on-my-feet tour. But then on Sunday...I'm...(holding my breath)....going on vacation!!!!!!!

I can't wait to spend some adventuring time with the kids and see my family. Wishing Mr. WBWD could go too.

Your Encouraging Word of the Day

A "single" working mother-teacher hears very few words of encouragement. I came fully to this realization when I thought back over my day yesterday.

The boys generally ask, "where's my laundry?" and "what's for dinner," but it's fairly rare to hear them offer up words of encouragement.

Writing up discipline reports, grading papers (and realizing that a large percentage of your students failed a test), and picking up crumbled homework papers and worksheets folded into airplanes from the classroom floor really wears me down.

My husband is the guy who offers hugs at the end of the day and small acts of kindness (like helping with the dishes). I miss that when he is away on his out-of-state work rotation.

I'm grateful for the teacher who works in the classroom next door. Yesterday she surprised me with a gift bag full of treats from my favorite gourmet food store, "Honey Girl." (As fate would have it I stepped in that same honey this morning, after the boys had helped themselves to my treats and then spilled it onto the floor next to the microwave that isn't currently in service after I blew the circuit trying to make dinner last night).

I feel as if I will NEVER finish my research (I can't, after all, even finish washing up a dirty laundry pile).

A male student in my college courses is acting inappropriately toward me and toward other students in the class. He is aggressive and volatile. I reported his behavior to my mentor and the tutoring department after experiencing horrible nightmares (he called me to vent and spew bizarre complaints like "those Spanish people didn't give me a strawberry milkshake and it was hot out!")

Still, God sent a beautiful sunrise this morning.

I'm reminded to be an encouragement to others - chances are there's another "orphan" mom of boys/teacher like me out there somewhere.

The Missing 6th Grader

6th Grade (between eleven and twelve years of age) is such a clutsy time of life.

This morning, our 6th Grader almost placed his full glass of milk on the counter. Instead, it fell to the floor, spilling all over his new tackle box, the cupboard doors, the kittens and...all over me (dressed in my clean work clothes). In a rush to meet the bus, he had no time to clean up the mess.

Getting to the bus stop on time has been a hit and miss activity as well. On Monday the bus passed by without picking up W. I yelled and screamed at him and then drove him to school, an "errand" that made me late for work. This was the most stressful part of the situation (arriving late to work). I took all of my frustration out on W - delivering far more "discipline" than I should have given the circumstance.

On Tuesday he left for the bus without eating breakfast or saying goodbye. In fact, I went to his room to wake him, and then I couldn't find him five minutes later. There was no evidence that he had gotten dressed. His shoes were still in the entryway. It was a good 30 minutes before the bus was supposed to drive by; I called and called outside but there was no answer.

I left for work wondering if he had been abducted, or if he was hiding. It was a terrible feeling.

Later, I called the school. The secretary assured me that he had arrived to homeroom.

I don't remember going through such a difficult period with our two older boys. It has, however, been 7 years since we last lived through this phase. I remember "Harry Potter" and the "Twighlight" series, football and basketball practices, and watching movies with friends. This time around there is a smart phone, heavy metal music, and a real "hit and miss" with visits with friends (largely due to our work and travel schedules).

It's time to give some thought to how we can slow down and help this young man "hit the mark."

The New Terrible Two

Saying "no" at work is not part of my nature. I tend to be the creative, enthusiastic type who, when asked to generate an idea or share an opinion is perfectly willing to do so. I tend to share food, share a smile, share humorous stories, and so on.

However, after being told by my boss that I needed to "step up" my game and share more, I'm feeling resentful and cranky.

I ripped all of the photos and technology tips that I'd posted on my office door down. I packed up ALL of the the silverware, coffee, salad dressings, apples, candy, and flavored water that I'd purchased for the office.

I'm boxing up my collection of ed tech books (that I keep on my office shelves to lend out). They go home with me today as does the groovy paper I'd stocked the supply room with.

The walls are bare. When asked about my ideas for projects during this morning's one on one meeting with my Dean I firmly (ok, feebly) stated, "I'm no longer interested in those projects."

And I feel miserable.

In fact, I found myself walking through the halls of the Theater building practicing my "NO" like a two-year-old.

Self talk, "Stay firm, sister!"

"I'm as proud of what we don't do as I am of what we do." -- Steve Jobs

The Black Mold on My Shiny New Job

My "dream job" has turned into a disturbing, bad dream.

Several of my co-workers are covered with skin irritations and open sores. Our eyes burn and sometimes people go home with crusty, "mucous-covered" eyelashes. Migraine headaches. Coughing and wheezing.

Since I started this job six months ago, the suggestion of a "sick building" has been a constant topic of conversation, especially after a long weekend when people start to feel better (once they have spent some time on the outside).

Yesterday a mechanical closet near our office suite was quarantined by maintenance personnel after it was found to have walls covered in black mold. Ceiling tiles, upon removal and inspection, also show evidence of insect infestation and pervasive mold.

The institution could move us to another area, perhaps, but to date there has been no official communication about the topic. My boss seems blind-sided by this and other serious situations.

I have ideas about the mold, team-building, the workplace bully, office communication, marketing, student advisement, technology, and more.

But nobody seems to listen.

Hidden from Sight

If there was a "recurring theme" to Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad's last business trip (the period of time while he was away) it would be "on fire." The theme for this trip, I would have to say, is "hidden."

My cell phone went missing, somewhere in the house. I searched for it for six or seven days and then finally ordered a new one.

The boys hid dirty dishes under the cellar stairs, instead of washing them. They also hid some around the kitchen garbage on the floor. Or course, I found those. My eyes were immediately drawn to the pile, as I walked into the room...with the company that had just arrived.

My friend Diana is rediscovering her (our) home town. She continues to marvel at the wonderful restaurants that we visit together and the "hidden stories" of amazing people who came from the area. She wonders why these places and faces were always hidden to her.

Diana has introduced me to some wonderful "discoveries" as well. Last night she gave me some sheep's milk feta cheese imported from Israel. DEEELISH!

This week at gymnastics I made a new friend. This is significant because I have been praying for a long time that I would find another Christian mom to socialize with.

Diana and "Mrs. W" - two formerly hidden treasures.


I will go before you and make the rough places smooth; I will shatter the doors of bronze and cut through their iron bars. 3"I will give you the treasures of darkness And hidden wealth of secret places, So that you may know that it is I, The LORD, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name. Isiah 45: 2-3

A Whole New Low

Last night I hit a whole new low.

After leaving work late, forgetting that I needed to pick the boys up from the sitters and learning that I had missed a visit from my Godmother by ten minutes, I dropped W off at home to get ready for football and headed off to the chiropractor.

It was an EXCELLENT adjustment. Our chiropractor, a personal friend, is also a football mom. Last season her son was badly injured during a game. He had surgery and then sat out of all sports for several months. Still, he was choosing to play again this year.

When I picked W up from practice he was definitely "HANGRY," complaining that he KNEW he had a concussion because he could feel his brain jiggle.

At home the "first day back to college" student had passed out on the side porch. I had to steop over his body to go inside.

The 8 year old was SCREAMING. When I examined his foot I found toe that was swollen to twice its size, purple and striped. I feared infection.

The 17-year old agreed to do chores, while informing me that the team trainer had diagnosed him with a sprained shoulder-rotator cup-something.

Standing water in the basement. I found boxes of photos and books covered in a thick, green mold.

I took a bottle of wine and a glass up to bed with me. Turned on Food Network and then Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad called.

"The house sold today!" he reported.

I repeated/mumbled. "The house...closed...sold..today...yay."

"Can I call you back tomorrow?" I asked. Seriously. I couldn't drum up even an ounce of excitement.

This morning, however, I'm elated.

Kittens and the House(s)

I sent the 8-year-old upstairs to put some clean, folded laundry on his brother's bed. He returned downstairs quickly (this was the first sign that something was "amiss" since the boys often scatter when there is work to do). I overheard a whisper but couldn't make out the content of the message.

Giggles. Loud footsteps. Doors open and closing.

Finally, a boy put out the challenge..."Mom. There are kittens upstairs."

I say "challenge" because my family is well aware that I do not relate well to felines.

They found three "gooey-eyed," "too little for their collars" kittens living in a closet in the oldest boy's bedroom. The mother cat was, I later learned, hit by a car.

All five "kids" enjoyed playing with the kittens through the evening.

While they cuddled with the babies and took pictures to post on Facebook, we also talked about B & J's plans for purchasing a house or renting an apartment after their wedding.

It was quite a different experience to be on the listening end of plans to search for and buy a first home. I appreciated the fact that their plans did not involve any choices or financial obligation on my part.

Mr. WestBerryDad and I are still waiting to sell our own House1, a smaller farm house we brought our second baby home to over 17 years ago! Once it sells, we may be able to buy a snow-blower or a tractor and, perhaps, a new couch. The couch we have now has seen 24 years worth of pets, kids, and winters and its arms have been emptied of all of their stuffing.

The cats can stay...for today.

Encouragement

The Fall 2015 semester began yesterday. I enjoyed seeing both new and former students return to our classrooms. Our shiny, new cafeteria is open for business and people are, once again, sitting around the tables in the lunchroom area.

Some of my favorite people returned to campus: my own mentor, Kathy, and an Education Professor I adore, Christine.

My oldest son and his fiancé decided to pop in and we found one another up in the hallway above the library. They had run into some other students from their local high school. We chatted and I invited them to see my office.

Christine had been my future daughter-in-law's favorite professor when she (B) studied here before transferring to a 4-year school to continue her studies. They ran into one another and B had the chance to show off her ring and share the wedding plans.

Christine stopped down to see me later...simply to share in the excitement over the engagement. She shared praises for "the kids" and most importantly, words of encouragement.

This was exactly what I needed.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits” (Proverbs 18:21)

Lord, thank you for Christine. And B. And J.

Tell Me Something Good

For some reason, I began this "business trip" feeling especially anxious about my responsibilities at work and at home.

My boss is the kind of person that NEVER says "thank you" and is especially stingy with words of encouragement. In fact, the entire office suffers from a deep lack of morale.

My house and yard strike me as in need of repairs and attention. Projects that are...big...huge...overwhelming. In fact, I wake up at night murmuring, "I have 17 rooms to clean. 17 rooms to clean."

I'm trying to finish graduate school, a program I've entered and re-entered three times now. The college had me re-take a course I'd already passed which means I can only go part time next semester which means...no options for loans or financial aid. Oh, and I'm "off sequence" so it is going to take me two more semesters to finish instead of one.

I was looking forward to going to the Puerto Rican Festival with a friend. And four kids. My four kids.

The city just experienced a drive-by shooting that left four young people dead and three critically wounded. I was nervous about the climate in the city (and about keeping my own gang safe and fed). It was awkward and uncomfortable to be frisked going into the festival. One of my boys had his cell phone stolen and sure enough, violence surrounded the festival. Thankfully, we didn't see any of the "action" but the experience was less than entertaining. And far less than relaxing.

Today the stock market fell...a lot.

Please. Please. Please.

Tell me something good.

Well, this morning I submitted my research proposal. Of course, it was submitted 13 hours past the deadline and I failed to review 10 sources (only noticing this requirement after I'd pressed the SUBMIT button).

Give me some credit, please.

Because sometimes we get stuck in kvetching or complaining or self-loathing and we have a symbiotic relationship so it’s like we share a brain, and anyway, the “tell me something good” snaps us out of the nonsense and whining. It forces us to pay attention and to, well, focus on what is good.

On what IS working rather than what is NOT.

It can be anything. Like “today I got out of bed.” << some days that sh*t is hard. It can be “My son graduated. It’s raining and I like it. I ate a beautiful salad. I got a raise. I didn’t have a suicidal thought today.” Anything. So you, tribe, my beloved peeps I love so much…. Tell me something good. I want all of you to comment. Seriously. Let’s do this.

1,000 Candles

My oldest son proposed to the love of his life! She is a talented, beautiful, Godly young woman, and...she said, "yes!"

To avoid revealing too much private information online, I'll share only the "teaser" that his proposal involved 1,000 lit candles!

The story of his proposal will be told for generations, I'm sure :)

Conflict Management

Conflict swirls everywhere around me.

The Iran Arms Deal.

The Confederate Flag.

Marines gunned down.

Donald Trump v.John McCain.

Monday - Friday there's conflict at work and boys battling to sit in the front seat of the van on the way to camp.

Student v. Instructor

Federal Regulations v. Local Needs

Nights and weekends I live with conflict at Job #2 over tip allocations and who will put away glassware and clean the bathrooms.

Family conflict between siblings. Conflict between divorced spouses over telephone calls.

Confict in my own brain over modernization and the preservation of memories.

It seems, lately, that there's no RECESS from the hard work of moving forward.

I could really use a pause button.


Psalm 143
A psalm of David.

1 Lord, hear my prayer,
listen to my cry for mercy;
in your faithfulness and righteousness
come to my relief.
2 Do not bring your servant into judgment,
for no one living is righteous before you.
3 The enemy pursues me,
he crushes me to the ground;
he makes me dwell in the darkness
like those long dead.
4 So my spirit grows faint within me;
my heart within me is dismayed.
5 I remember the days of long ago;
I meditate on all your works
and consider what your hands have done.
6 I spread out my hands to you;
I thirst for you like a parched land.[a]
7 Answer me quickly, Lord;
my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me
or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
8 Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go,
for to you I entrust my life.
9 Rescue me from my enemies, Lord,
for I hide myself in you.
10 Teach me to do your will,
for you are my God;
may your good Spirit
lead me on level ground.

Lord Have Mercy On Those Black Socks

Black socks, they never get dirty,
The longer you wear them the stronger they get.
Sometimes I think I should wash them,
But something inside me says No, no, not yet.
Not yet, not yet, not yet...

There sits a pair of black socks in the cup holder of my mommy van. A young man must have borrowed my vehicle and marked his trail.

I found some black socks in the garden, a few on the back porch, and I ALWAYS find several in the couch and among the couch pillows.

I was amused, this weekend, when I took a tour of my son's camp residence, an "apartment" located above the camp store. As a staff member he shares the space with two adult leaders and one other young staff member.

Underneath the stairs leading up to the loft, among the mud and blades of grass, I spied several "lost" black socks.

Black Pants, White Powder

Boys. They can overlook a coffee table full of dirty dishes in a TV room littered with candy wrappers and dirty socks.

They don't seem to "see" dirty dishes, a floor that needs sweeping, or a light left on in an empty room.

But for some strange reason, they all notice white powder on my black pants.

It struck me this morning when one of the teenagers ran after me yelling, "Mom! Mom!"

"You have...powder on your pants. "

I thank him but think, "so what?!"

Men are from Mars.

Women are from "If-my-slip - or - a -tag-shows -it's no big deal but-could-you-please-notice-that the garbage-needs to be-taken out-planet of - Venus."

NIcks & Cuts/Shearing With Mom

The month of June has been rainy...very, very rainy. I heard the weatherman say this morning that we received 1/3 of an average year's rain TOTAL during just the last 30 days.

Yesterday I found that the boys left an extension cord, the medical supplies, and the the shears in a wheelbarrow, OUTSIDE, over the weekend. It rained so hard that the wheelbarrow filled up with water and all of the items were completely submerged.

Thankfully, the box that houses the shears and the corresponding combs, oils, and blades, protected the machine, for the most part.

The sun was out so I mowed until the lawnmower died and wouldn't restart (argh).

My oldest son, now 19, offered to catch and shear one of our new Cormo-Merino wethers, "Licorice." I had noticed that the animal was limping and he had been carrying at least two season's worth of wool.

We haven't worked on an animal together in awhile, my oldest son and I. I'm slow, and apparently I make my son very nervous (he commented that "it's like learning to drive with you. Sometimes it's just better to learn from someone else").

He was so nervous that he had several "oops" moments while cutting, leaving the animal bloody under the belly and on the neck. The shears fell to the floor, breaking the brand new replacement comb.

I wasn't grumpy.

Or a nag.

Or loud.

I'm working hard, in fact, to choose HAPPY.

In spite of the political climate, international events, and a very discouraging situation at my full time job, I want to be an encouragement to others and to "keep on the sunny side of life."

Maybe I can learn a thing or two from old "Licorice," who, despite being nicked and cut by the shears, seemed glad to have the wool trimmed from around his eyes and ears.

J and I pushed the lawnmower into the shop and it started to rain again. WE enjoyed a bowl of ice cream and I went upstairs to read (a fictional novel instead of a textbook!)


"I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles."
Audrey Hepburn

from Brainyquote

A Business Process

Awhile back, the book Who Moved My Cheese? was popular among managers. There was a widespread understanding that individuals, and organizations, needed to constantly scan the environment, evaluate options, and quickly change course in order to successfully compete in today's technology-driven marketplace.

Ironically, perhaps, I'm now surrounded by an organizational culture of rigidity and complacency. If something doesn't work, people blame the business process (even if there isn't a business process.) (Yes, I actually heard this today, "Yes, you should have been notified of the outage but there isn't a business process for that.).

The secretaries and I agree that the phrase "business process" has become nausea-inducing.

Imagine, in the "Who Moved My Cheese" scenario, that the mice voluntarily spend months...years even...in meetings, trying to agree upon a route through a maze they've never navigated before. Through layers of committees the process would be sketched out until the "top mouse committee" gave the go-ahead to navigate toward "the prize."

Chances are, the cheese gets pretty rotten and stale by then (or, in my own case, our "customers" take themselves elsewhere.).

Here's to It's FINALLY Friday and a a break from carrying the weight of b.p.'s (bleh).

Boiling Over

There's something I need to get off of my chest. I wish that there was someone...someone in my family...who would teach our little boys to fish. A grandparent or an aunt/uncle.

This weekend is "free fishing" time in our state, a few days when neither adults nor children require a fishing license. I'll be working long days at the winery while hoping that, at a minimum, the boys aren't in danger while under someone else's care. It would be a luxury to know that they were OUTSIDE, learning valuable life skills like fishing.

I purchased a fishing license yesterday for our 17-year-old who is headed off to work at a camp for the summer. I also bought a machete, boys' underwear, mens' socks, golf balls, and "Jacked" Doritos.

After shopping, we went to the library where the boys borrowed books on such topics as Werewolves and Minecraft. Later we built a "small" bonfire in the backyard, which the boys expanded via the addition of lighter fluid and a school year's worth of papers and folders.

I broke up an air soft gun fight, cleaned 20 matchbox cars out of the tub so that I could shower, and listened to a lengthy description of a scream-o metal concert with highlights like dancing on broken glass, ripped out stud earrings, and an ear-drum smashing first number.

I cleaned up enough dirty dishes to find a small patch of counter underneath, recycled several empty soup cans, fished dirty socks from the couch pillows, picked a box containing a wench off of the kitchen floor, and disposed of the pancakes left in the back of the minivan.

Mine is a boys' world. And when their dad is working out of town, the "boy antics" seem to boil over.

Good Things

I like-

Holding sweet Adeline, 6 weeks old.

Hearing Joe Dady play an instrument first owned by the banjo player from Bill Monroe's band.

Watching The Dady Brothers play, canal side.

Tug boats, canal bridges, sunshine on the water.

Petunias

Chicken barbecue

A Dalmatian in the fire house.

Kale, cucumber and green apple smoothies.

Cold dense, dark stout from the tap that tastes like burnt caramel and cocoa.

Teaching my children our favorite drinking songs.