Failed Cakes, High School, and Other Disasters.

So, my oldest daughter is officially a middle school graduate.

Don't ask me how that happened.  One minute I was this nervous expectant mother in my early twenties, unsure of what the future held, terrified of what it would mean to be a mom.

These days, I'm only slightly less terrified.

But somehow, we made it.  Through preschool, kindergarten, elementary school, and now--middle school.  The middle school days are over.

To celebrate, I baked a cake.

Now, one thing you should know about me before reading on:  I do enjoy experimenting in the kitchen, but baking is not my forte.  I make the world's best chocolate chip cookies--they're huge and soft and chewy and ohmyword delicious.  But that's all I got.

Still, this cake came in a box, so I figured it couldn't be that hard.  I read the directions.  I mixed the batter.  I baked the cake.

My daughter arrived about halfway through the process to tell me I was doing it wrong.  I showed her that I was, indeed, following the directions, and I pointed to the part on the box that gave specific instructions for using a glass baking pan, which is what I was doing.

I'm still not sure what exactly went wrong.  It may have been, as Kaliah claimed, the pan, which was square, but had slightly angled sides.  It may have been, as my mother supposes, that I used only one pan instead of creating layers (nowhere on the directions, by the way, does it claim that this is a hazard).  But here's what happened:

The timer went off.  I removed the cake from the oven.  I stuck the toothpick in and it came out clear.  I left the cake to cool.

After waiting the recommended time (fifteen minutes), I dumped the cake out of the pan and onto a cookie sheet to ice it.  Before I saw the problem, I first heard "uh-oh" from my husband, who was observing.

Turns out, the cake had not baked all the way through, despite the misleading toothpick stick.  So, the edges of the cake were done, but approximately half of the project, the half that was buried beneath the golden brown exterior, was still in a soup-like-form, and I ended up dumping a half-baked, half-battered conglomeration of gunk onto the cookie sheet.  The sea of batter spilled over that of the cake which was formed, as I gazed on in amazement.

So, what now?  I did what any good baker would do. I scooped the entire mess back into the pan and threw it back into the oven, checking it every ten minutes.

Now, I did have plans that day, plans which did not allow for an extra hour of baking time for a half-finished cake.  So at some point, I removed the cake from the oven, pressed FIRMLY on the previously undone portion with my finger to make sure it had actually turned from a liquid to solid this time, and then threw the whole mess into the refrigerator. 

In the meantime, in typical high-schooler fashion, my daughter came out to laugh at me, declared that she would not be eating any of the cake (indeed, pleaded with me not to "make her"), and then proceeded to consume some of the icing straight out of the can.

The following day, I yanked everything out of the fridge to try again, including the icing my daughter had opened.  I ruthlessly scraped all of the cake out of the pan, spatula style, mashing it down into a sort-of-square as I remolded it into a not even kind of pleasing shape.  I then slathered it with icing, which of course, was not easy to spread, as both cake and topping were cold.  Bits of cake crumbs were spreading along with the icing.  Other portions of the cake were crumbling beneath my attempts to cover it in frosting.  My three-year-old arrived to look on eagerly, stroking my arm and restoring my ego as she breathed, "Oooh!  It's so beautiful!"

Mind you, this cake was the opposite of beautiful.  This was the most unbeautiful cake that ever was.

But my sweet Shay continued to look on in awe, exclaiming, "It's so beautiful!  And you're so gorgeous!"

And at that point, I couldn't help but laugh until I was crying.  Because in my head, I still had the vision of yesterday, when the goop of uncooked batter was splattering all over the broken pile of baked cake as I stared on in horror.

But today, Shay saw only a beautiful cake.

So we continued to cover it in chunky cool frosting, and then I let Shay shower it with blue sprinkles in an attempt to further beautify my disaster.

Despite the less than smooth path to creation, it ended up tasting a-okay.

Even Kaliah said so.  And no, I did not force her to eat it.

In Pursuit of Perfection (Why Mothering with All You've Got is Sometimes All You Need)

The other day, one of my best girlfriends texted me.  We've been friends longer than many of the college students I teach have been celebrating birthdays, though life has taken us on fairly different paths.  I became a mother about ten years before she did, but when she joined the club, she did so with fervent commitment:  her two boys are only about a year apart.  Any mama who can handle this (and kudos to all of you out there who do, including my own mother, as my brothers and I were all born within about four years of each other) deserves a medal.  It's hard enough having one kid in diapers, but when you have two tiny ones, as much of a blessing as that is, it's obviously double the trouble.  By the time Rashieme and I added to our family, our oldest daughter was on the brink of middle school, so obviously, that's a totally different experience.

My friend has a somewhat unique situation though--her husband works out of town about half the year.  So not only is she dealing with the already heightened pressures and responsibilities of caring for two completely dependent human beings, but much of the time, she is doing it on her own.  I recognize that this experience is not necessarily out of the ordinary--there are many families out there where one spouse is serving our country and required to be absent from the home for months at a time.  Still other occupations require extensive travel.  And then there are those of us who are single parents, whether by choice or circumstances, with varying levels of support from the co-parent (if (s)he is still in the picture) and/or other family members.

I did the single parent thing for several years when Rashieme and I were apart.  Fortunately for me, we both were always involved in all aspects of Kaliah's life when she was younger.  We split custody without going to the court system.  We co-parented well, even when our relationship with each other was quite broken.

My friend's experience as the only parent in the home for a good chunk of her time reminds me of my days as a single mama, even though she and her husband are "separated" for an entirely different reason, and their relationship is as strong as ever.  But I think about how often, she doesn't get a break.  How she is the one in the trenches through diapering and stomach bugs, she is the one dealing with the monotony of laundry and bottles and meal prep, she is the one who must be on the go from start to finish all day long, often without fifteen minutes for herself for a shower, or perhaps even five minutes without interruption to pee in peace.

When Rashieme and I went through our time apart, we were 100% on when it was our turn to be with our daughter.  But we also got a break when it was the other parent's turn.

For me, the break was both good and bad.  I missed my daughter terribly (and Rashieme, for that matter).  But I also had time to myself that I probably wouldn't have otherwise had to read, go out with my girlfriends, or enjoy a glass of wine with my favorite TV show.

I recognize that for many of the single parents out there, those who are widowed or those whose former partners are not involved, a week off is not a reality.  It's similar for my friend--she is a full-time mama when her husband is away, and though he is an amazing father and shares the parenting responsibilities when he returns, she is still a full-time mama when he is home, PLUS her attention is divided as she strives to be a supportive wife.

As I think about the challenges she faces and the blessings she enjoys, I realize there are ups and downs to just about every situation.  With Rashieme and I, we basically are in a polar opposite situation.  He is the stay at home dad, but my schedule is also quite flexible.  I try to give him as much of a break from the hands-on nitty-gritty as I can when I'm home, and he also is patient and understanding if I need to stay an extra hour at the office to catch up on stuff, or if I'm spent for the day, he tells me to go to bed early, even if he was the one at home with the kids all day.  I love it, and it works for us, but we also don't have near the financial security as many couples our age, given that my occupation, teaching, which I love, is not typically thought of as lucrative enough to enable one to be a primary breadwinner.  We make it work, and we love our lives, as I am sure my friend with two under the age of four loves her life.

But all this to say:  No matter how many kids you have, no matter what your marital status, no matter how old the children are, or whether you work or stay home:

Parenting is hard.

When my friend texted me, she shared her very real frustrations upon stumbling upon a latest piece of parenting advice, some well-intentioned guideline that recommended a perhaps surprising number of hours spent outside per day.  As all of us moms probably think, but not all of us probably admit to, her main reaction was basically:  Well, that's great in theory.  But with everything else I'm expected to do, when the bleep and how the bleep am I supposed to make that happen?

Which got me thinking.

There are so many ridiculous do's and do not's in mothering, most of them stemming from reasonable ideas and legitimate desires to keep our children healthy and happy.  But our culture blows them so out of proportion that eventually, even if you are as confident as Mary Poppins in your child-caring abilities, you may find yourself questioning your capability as a mom.

Because all of the guidelines that are out there, even the most reasonable ones, are basically impossible to follow when you try to follow them all.  Some of these best practices contradict other solid information, but even the guidelines that don't violate other suggestions cannot possibly be adhered to all of the time, in conjunction with all the others.

We put so much pressure on ourselves as moms.  A lot of this comes from our culture, which encourages perfection and achievement across all areas of our lives.  We feel it especially when it comes to our kids, because they are (and should be) our most important responsibilities on this planet.

So in thinking of the never ending onslaught of well-meaning advice that comes from parenting experts, family members, onlookers, educators, and loud mouths on social media, most of it containing at least some semblance of reason, I offer the following mockery, in an attempt to illustrate just how crazy we can make ourselves when we try too hard to do everything right.  Lest you be offended, let me first say that the following list is intended as a JOKE, and yes, I do realize that most (not all) of what I've written here does poke fun at legitimate advice, and that if you do some of the things on this list (within reason), I am not trying to attack your parenting.  I'm merely trying to point out that at the end of the day, all of the do's and don't's in the world can be an exhausting, overwhelming, and sometimes contradictory bottomless pit of information that would be an easy recipe to drive any mother bonkers.  The vast majority of suggestions can be attempted or disregarded, and that is a personal decision.  I think you should do what works best for you as a mom, with what works within your parenting style, and for your kids, as they are unique and beautiful human beings.

But because I couldn't stop myself, I assembled a list of 20 Suggestions to help you Be the Perfect Mom.  If you decide to start reading, I highly recommend you read all the way on to number twenty (or at least, skip to the end).

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

How to Be the Perfect Mom

1.  Never feed little Johnny or Suzi anything too sugary, too fattening, too loaded with carbs, too flavored with artificial flavorings or colorings, or any vegetable or fruit grown anywhere that utilizes pesticides or any chemicals designed to make the food actually grow.  Fast food is obviously un-allowed, as are all foods children actually like (i.e., chicken nuggets, hotdogs, Kraft macaroni and cheese). If you really want to be a great mom, go vegetarian, or better yet vegan, but whatever you do, go fully organic.  Bonus points if you can grow 1000% of your meals in your backyard.

2.      Begin looking for your child’s special gift shortly after birth.  Quickly decide:  Will he be a professional NBA player?  A famous writer or artist?  Will she dance with Julliard?  Cheerlead for the Dallas Cowboys?  Better hurry up, the sooner you identify the gift, the sooner you can spend oodles of your money forcing your child to play clarinet or walk the balance beam.  You are doing an especially good job if you determine their lifelong hobby before they can walk.  Or better yet, talk.  Then they can’t argue with you about it.

3.      Never admit that your child does anything wrong, ever.  He or she is your special little genius, and you must not allow any well-intentioned teacher, pastor, or police officer to interfere with your little angel’s self-esteem.  How will the world react if your child serves a single detention for one lapse of judgement, in elementary school?  Childhood must become a mistake-free zone, and if your child screws up and makes one, you must begin damage control immediately! Social media must be a land of perfect children.  What will Facebook say if they know your child wasn’t the first in her class to read?

4.      Speaking of reading, read to your kids constantly.  They must be familiar with all the classics before beginning schooling:  I.e., Good Night Moon, The Don’t Let the Pigeon series, Great Expectations, The Complete Works of Flannery O’Connor, The Quintessential Shakespeare.  You know.  The usual.  Start with the Shakespeare while you’re still pregnant.  Then you can finish before your child is old enough to ask questions you can’t answer.

5.      Make Pinterest your Bible.  Learn how to craft, bake, and decorate better than the Mom next store.  Carefully document all your success by posting photos of your crafting, baking, and decorating accomplishments to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and whatever other newfangled technology comes out that you must also become fluent in, lest your child learns how to work it before you, leaving you unable to monitor his or her social media.

6.      Speaking of screen time:  LIMIT IT!  Never mind that iPads and smartphones are essential to functioning in today’s society—you must make sure your children’s time isn’t monopolized by screens (even if you limit them to learning apps and educational videos).  Two hours a week is obviously two hours a week you are giving to the DEVIL.

7.      Since they can’t learn technological skills they need, or you will be considered a bad parent, force them to play outside.  Never mind that outside is filled with strangers, Lyme’s disease, and spiders.  Children need healthy air to fill their lungs (so hopefully you don’t live in the majority area of the country that is filled with smog or pollen), and they need their vitamin D from the sun (but they don’t need skin cancer!  So lather them up with SPF 800 every 20 minutes.  And bug spray.  Spray them with bug spray so that they stink so badly, there’s no way you’ll be tempted to allow them to skip their nightly bath, another sign of substandard parenting).

8.      While they’re outside, make them run.  Teach them to play tag, hide and seek, kickball, dodgeball, and all of the other lost art forms that were hallmarks for those of us who grew up in the nineties and earlier.  I mean, if they don’t learn how to deal with a dodgeball to the face by age 6, what kind of pansy are you raising?

9.      Don’t let your boys cry.  Teach them that boys must be strong.  By strong, we mean humans that pretend they are incapable of feeling emotion, and can therefore never express any signs of weakness ever.

10.  Speaking of boys, discourage all other signs of behavior that indicate any reason someone might question his manliness.  Disallow dancing, cooking, and playing with dolls (even though all women everywhere agree that a man who can dance is sexy, a man who can cook is a Godsend, and a man who enjoys being a good father is the definition of a family man, and what many of us who want to be mothers most look for in a partner).

11.  Don’t forget your girls!  They aren’t allowed to do anything manly.  Discourage familiarity with tools, involvement in contact sports, and all things automotive.  God forbid you teach them life skills that their future husband should handle (even though she might choose to be single).  Or encourage participation in athletics that develop character or understanding of teamwork.  You don’t want her to mess up her make-up.  Which is another issue of concern:  Be careful here, because if you encourage it too early, you’re raising a Jezebel.  If you wait too late, she won’t know how to do her make-up, and she won’t be able to find a date to the prom, or later, a good college boy who wants to make sure everything you spent on her bachelor’s degree is for naught, as he seeks to make her stay home and start popping out babies.  And then, her life will be ruined and you will have failed as a parent.

12.  Breastfeed your baby.  Breast is best!  Haven’t you heard there are eight million benefits and children who aren’t breastfed grow up at higher risk for every single ailment under the sun, including a whole slew of conditions you’ve never even heard of!?!?

13.  BUT don’t let your boobs show evidence that their primary function is or has ever been anything other than arousing men.  Get a boob job as soon as possible after you cease breast feeding.  Wear a push up bra all day everyday until you can afford one, if finances are tight.

14.  The jury is still out on breastfeeding in public.  On the one hand, public breastfeeding shatters the illusion that your breasts are ever used for anything other than sexual play, violating principle #13.  But on the other hand, breastfeeding in public demonstrates your commitment to the aforementioned guideline #12.  It also allows you to crusade for breastfeeding rights, and to feed your child uncovered whenever and wherever you wish.  You get to yell at strangers you make uncomfortable, demanding, “Would YOU like to eat your lunch in the bathroom??” when they suggest you move the baby’s dinner party to the restroom. 

15.  Make sure you have a harrowing birth experience story to tell.  Tell it everywhere you can, but especially tell it to terrified expectant mothers.  Bonus points if you almost died on the table.  Everyone respects a mother more if she almost died on the table giving birth.

16.  But also, have at least one child naturally.  Refuse all pain medication, even when you get to the point that you personally want to go back in time, find Eve, kill her, and tell Adam not to dare eat that blessed apple, lest all women everywhere suffer labor pains because of one bad decision on one broud’s part.  Breathe through the pain.  Bounce on a ball or jump in the tub.  Have a water birth!  You are at one with the universe; never mind that this hurts like a mother, like a 1,352 on a pain scale from 1-10.  People respect a mother who gave birth naturally.

17.  Have only one child.  Anyone who has more than one child is clearly being selfish and shortsighted, because now all the children must learn to share, and your resources (which, let’s be real, no matter how well-off you are, are never endless) can no longer solely be devoted to your little angel.

18.  Have more than one child.  Anyone who has only one child is clearly being selfish and shortsighted, because putting all your resources into one child will spoil your only child like a rotten fruit, and one day you and your spouse will be gone and your poor only child won’t have any siblings to reminisce with.

19.  Be the room mom.  Be the best darn room mom that ever was.  At every possible opportunity, organize committees to address everything from provision of snacks to chaperoning eligibility for both dances and field trips, to raising money for every possible reason you can raise money.  Decide on the most obnoxious fundraisers available, and select the most random products on the market to sell at the highest cost, with only a portion of the donations going to whatever program or cause benefits (marginally) from the sale of popcorn, pizza, candy, or wrapping paper, all of which is ridiculously overpriced.  Run the classroom like you’d be in charge of a group of soldiers—the ship cannot be too tight!  Chase down every parent and force them to donate time or money or both, even if you’ve got a room full of single moms or dads who work two jobs just to survive.  If anyone tries to avoid volunteering or charitable giving, listen patiently to their excuse before you make a snarky comment that is a clear, direct attack on her commitment to her children.

20.  Obviously, all of the above guidelines are total crap.  You will be the perfect mom for your children if you love them, and if day after day, you are doing the best you can.  Volunteer—when you can.  Feed them in as healthy a way as you are able.  Breastfeed them if you can, but remember, a huge segment of the population was bottle-fed, and the vast majority of those people are doing just fine.  If you are a baker, bake.  If you are a decorator, decorate.  If you like crafts, craft till you’re blue in the face.  If those aren’t your talents, don’t worry!  Something is.  And your child loves you for you, so long as you are giving them your time.  There may be seasons where you have less of it, especially if you are a single parent.  It takes a village, so ask for help.  Let your children live and learn, and let them learn consequences.  Don’t protect them from every challenge—learn when to step in and when little Johnny or Suzi needs to understand that they are free to choose their actions, but we are never free from consequences.  Love them.  Sometimes love is tough, and sometimes, it is the most natural thing in the world.  Real love supports your children, no matter their interests and talents.  Real love helps develop those passions without becoming overbearing.  Real love is in the mother-child bond, and you will get there, even if you are having the worst case of post-partum depression there ever was—ask for help.  None of this is easy, even if the mom who bakes makes cookies that make yours look sad, even if the mom next door has a house that’s cleaner than yours, even if the mom down the street got her pre-pregnancy body back and you didn’t.  We all struggle with something.  Don’t feel guilty about being a stay-at-home mama who still can’t keep the kitchen spotless.  Don’t give yourself grief if you couldn’t afford to stay home, or, heck, WANTED to work. This doesn’t make you less of a mother, just like those who stay at home aren’t in any way contributing less to their households.

We are all good at some things. We all struggle in other areas.  Embrace your strengths.  Admit your weaknesses.  Love your children for the unique individuals that they are, just as they will surely love you for being the only woman in the world who could ever possibly be their mom.

Christmas Wishes

I am where traditions come to die.

My mother, like her mother before her, hand-stitched beautiful, painstakingly created Halloween costumes every year.  We have been elaborate mermaids and He-Men, pirates and princesses.  Once, my brother Johnny was a giant, well-designed hot dog.

Me?  I buy some overpriced, pre-packaged costume the week or day before it is needed.

My mother bought us unique Christmas ornaments every year, envisioning that we would eventually take them all with us and put them on our own trees when we were grown.

While a few of mine have survived, and some have even made their way onto the tree, I’m ashamed to say that the vast majority of them probably now live in a box in the garage, the result of several moves to different apartments and houses through my early and late twenties.  I’ve not had it together enough as an adult to start a similar tradition for my own children, though they do each have a “Baby’s 1^st” ornament.  I can’t even claim credit for buying those—my oldest child’s was a gift from my sister-in-law, and my younger daughter, who happens to have two, received one because her father picked one out of the gift shop in the hospital, as she was born in December, and the other came from (you guessed it) my mother.

And speaking of Christmases and trees, ours comes out of a box.  Well, a series of boxes, and because it’s so old—a hand-me-down—the colored labels that tell us which hole to insert which branch are all peeling off, making putting this tree together a special treat.  I wonder if my father is ever rolling in his grave at the notion of his daughter putting up an artificial tree.  He’d probably roll his eyes even more at our inept struggle to put the long branches near the bottom and the shorter one near the top, in spite of my grumbling that the color coding system is broken. 

My father would never have found himself in a situation such as this.  He had to go find the biggest tree on the lot for his family, every single year—perhaps like his father before him?  One Christmas I swear our tree had to have been twelve feet tall (our house, the same one I grew up in, is not big by any standard, but we do have vaulted ceilings in the living room—and I vaguely remember this tallest of trees touching the highest peak of the ceiling, the uppermost part of it bowed beneath the peak of the house, not exactly allowing for artful placement of a star).

It's not that I don’t try.  I want to be one of those moms who makes cookies for Santa and reads about Jesus’ birth on Christmas Eve.  It’s just that I also happen to be the kind of person who thinks that Christmas Eve is a pretty good time to, you know, start wrapping presents.

I’ve been a procrastinator most of my adult life, I guess.  I don’t mean to be.  There are aspects of my time I manage particularly well—at work, for example, where if I didn’t get things done in a timely manner, I probably wouldn’t have a job.  I faithfully serve at church each week, offering a smile and a handshake to church members, visitors, strangers.  I’m always on time and ready to do what is asked of me.

But when it comes to momming, I’m never going to be room mom or hold office in the PTO.  I’m probably not even going to make it to story time at the library, even though I think that’s a great idea in theory.

I’m just not wired that way.

But here is what I can promise my children, each and every Christmas:

As long as I’m alive, there will never be a day that I won’t want to hug you.

I pray for you as often as I think of you.

They won’t always make it to the table for Santa, but my chocolate chip cookies will be the best you’ve ever tasted, and I will teach you how to make them.

I will teach you to be kind.  I will do my best to model selfless living, and show you what it looks like to treat others the way that Jesus would.

We will value laughter in our house.  I believe how often we laugh is a much more accurate measure of our wealth than the numbers on the bank statements.

You will grow up in a house where the number one rule is “God first.”  Our other rules include “Don’t let anyone win”—I did inherit my competitive nature from my father, I suppose—and “Do things that make sense.”

It goes without saying that we will love each other in this house.

I will not be the kind of mother who protects you from ever feeling a consequence.  I will not argue with your teachers over grades or make excuses for you if you are in the wrong.  Instead, I will love you through any sort of disappointment you face, whether it is one you created yourself because of your own choices, or one that you must face simply because of unfair circumstances.

I will be the first to admit that life is not always fair.  I will do my best to teach you how to let this realization make you better, not bitter.

I will teach you that being more selfish is never the answer.

I will teach you that sour cream and onion potato chips are clearly the most superb amongst all flavors, and if you refuse to learn this lesson, good.  That means there will be more for me.

I will teach you the true meaning of Christmas—all about love, grace, forgiveness, faith, and joy.  Each of these, which are the secret to living a life well-lived regardless of the season, are demonstrated through Jesus' birth, and I will make sure to explain as best I can how I know this to be true.  Some years, there will be many presents under our tree.  Other years, they might not be abundant.  I will try to teach you how to experience joy, no matter what is wrapped up and waiting for you Christmas morning.

My greatest joys in life are being your mother, being your father’s wife, and being a daughter of God.  I will try to show you how to love your parents and grandparents by loving my own mother and grandmother.  It is one of my greatest regrets that you never got to watch me love your grandfather, and that even if you had been old enough to experience that time, I might have shown him more obviously how much I loved him, so that neither you nor he could have doubted it.

I will love my husband and try to put his needs above my wants, as I believe he does the same for me.  I pray you find this kind of love, and when you find it, you don’t give up on it.  I will do everything in my power to show you how a real marriage is a partnership, that love is a feeling but also a choice.  That you must choose love day after day.

So, my dear children, choose love.  Whether you grow up to be the bake sale queen or the scattered artist, the mom who does all organic or baby yoga or still has a girls’ night complete with wine or all or none of the above—love your kids as best you can, in the way that is natural to you.  Listen to all of the people God has put in your path to guide you, but at the end of the day, make your decisions about how to live your life for an audience of one—what do you think is best in this situation, and what would God say about it?

Above all, choose love. 

PS--As I write this, there's a freaking squirrel in the fireplace.  Your father tried to force it to evacuate Chevy Chase style, enlisting one of you--the elder--to "SHOO it, SHOO it."  I'm not sure exactly how that worked out, but due to the scratching I can still hear directly behind me in the chimney in back of the recliner, I'm thinking:  Wildly Unsuccessfully.  There's always been a little bit of National Lampoon in our family--Chevy Chase was one of my dad's favorites.  Don't be ashamed of the everyday crazy.  Embrace it.

Doc Life

So I happened to visit my brother a couple days ago, who asked me about my blog, as he'd met a blogger who has similar interests.

Which prompted me to think, oh, yeah.  I have a blog.

So today, I logged on and realized that I haven't updated my blog since late August.

And felt a bit guilty, not because I think anyone really misses the occasional humor, but because it's a mark of something that, once again, I didn't follow through on.

But then I decided that this time, I had a good excuse.

As a colleague put it, when I asked him how he was doing:

"Well, I entered the doctoral program, and then my life exploded."

Doc studies are, to me, so many things:  Challenging.  Invigorating.  Consuming.  Rewarding.  Painful.  Hopeful. 

Life changing.

Maybe I'm being overdramatic.  But maybe I'm not.  Nothing else that I've ever done in academia has pushed me like this, forced me to question the world around me, required such dedication or commitment.

The first few weeks, I was on autopilot, rushing from school to work to school to my other work to home to church to school to work to my other work to home... you get the idea.

I was so thrown off with my sense of scheduling.  As a school teacher, you work Monday to Friday.  Of course you grade and plan at night and on the weekends.  But you have a set regular schedule.  Since I've become a research assistant, I also have a base schedule... but between special opportunities and deadlines, often the base schedule becomes a mere suggestion... and even when it's not, I'm still trying to remember when I work at my second job (basically all closing shifts, so I'm getting home around two in the morning on those nights).  It's pretty amazing to me that so far, I've showed up at all the right times to all the right places.

But just to give you an idea as to how much I'm in the moment, as opposed to seeing the big picture, here's a true story.

The other day, I was driving past the elementary school to do some laundry, because our dryer, which has been fixed four times, broke once again.  As I passed Kaliah's school, I frowned to myself, because I noticed that there were cars lined up around the block all over the place.  And I thought to myself, how rude!  What on earth is going on at the school that they wouldn't even notify the parents?  Obviously, I'd like to know so that I could at least have the option of participating!  I was about to work myself into a full blown tizzy when I happened to glance at the clock and realize that it was a little after three.

The line of cars was there to pick up their children.

My very own daughter was IN the building.  While I'm having a momzilla moment going off about the lack of etiquette the school was displaying over not letting me know what kind of special event is going on...

It dawns on me that there was no special event.  Just my daughter going home from school.  Which happens every day, at this time, at this place.

And I am so clueless, I've forgotten my own kid is in this building.

(And no, my poor, overworked brain had no sense of where my kid actually was, if not at school.  So don't ask.)

I know, right?  Mother of the year, right here.

But in all seriousness, between my efforts to be a mom and wife and student and research assistant and manager (and late cook--that's a fun one.  My restaurant stops scheduling late night cooks this time of the year, so you'd be happy to know that my culinary skills are improving, because, um, they have to)--being a blogger has sort of fallen off the radar.  And while I still consider myself a writer (I always will), the writing I'm doing these days is primarily academic.

But it was a pleasant surprise to see, that when I found a few minutes today to check into the situation...

Apparently I had 163 views over the past month, even though I hadn't updated a single time.

So, wow.

And thanks.

And I'm going to try to do better.  No promises, because life is short.  And full.  And I know that I am no Super Woman.

But as always, I do appreciate your support.  And I'm quite taken aback by it this time.

So thanks for reading.  And please continue doing so.

And I'll do my best to continue writing.