The Cup

Sometimes in life, the cup is half-empty, sometimes it is half-full, sometimes it runneth-over, and sometimes it is bone dry. I’d like to say it is all in a person’s perspective, but I don’t really believe that. I do, however, believe that sometimes, life hands a person a set of circumstances and those circumstances define themselves and all the person can do is deal with the cup they are dealt. That is not always a negative thing, but it is not always positive either. It all depends on what is in the cup and what you do with it.

Tag: family

  • Post #26: 9/26/26: Approach With Caution

    Post #26: 9/26/26: Approach With Caution

    Cup Status: Varies by the Day

    So, you know those “Proceed with Caution” signs that someone puts up whenever there is a situation that might be dangerous if a person were to drive too fast, or not wear protective gear, or not hide fast enough when Auntie Margie approaches during a holiday gathering? Well, lately, I have been the person who needs to wear an “Approach with Caution” sign.

    There are some days when I am a ray of sunshine. I am well-balanced and am handling life well, and then there are days when I am overwhelmed by everything. And when I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING!!! That piece of hair that will not stay out of my eye. That weird sound that keeps coming from…somewhere. The glare from the window in my classroom that keeps temporarily blinding me when I bend my head a certain way. The way my shoes fit today, and my bra, and why did I pick this shirt? Yes, I have a pencil for you, and no, you don’t have to ask to go to the restroom; just fill out a pass and go. Of course, I will repeat the directions again. I will respond to your e-mail even though I already answered your question three different ways. Why is the soda machine out of Diet Coke, and what the heck is that smell????

    Breathe! Remember your mindfulness reading that you did this summer. “Breathing in, I calm myself. Breathing out, I feel at ease.”

    Bologne.

    Some days.

    Other days, it works and helps to calm me down and bring me back to the moment.

    I really do love the beginning of the school year. Everything is new and fresh. It is the time to get to know my new students, to establish routines, to reacquaint myself with my coworkers, to breathe in the smell of new books, to open packages of new office supplies; it is Teacher Spring! But then, I come home, and I am exhausted. My husband is exhausted. My kids are exhausted. I try my best to meal prep and prepare crockpot meals and sheet pan dinners and make a breakfast casserole for the week, etc. I try to do all of the laundry over the weekend and get outfits set out and ready for the whole week. I try to make time at night to talk to each of my kids about their day and to my husband about his. Then, when I can squeeze it in, I clean up bits of the house here and there, doing my best to get the rest of the house involved and seeing how much I failed to establish home routines in my attempts to make the week easier (I’ll just do it myself, it will be quicker! What a lie we tell ourselves). Then I spend my weekend doing all of the chores and eventually resenting my family, who are enjoying their weekend. So, it builds and builds inside until I blow up. The caution sign goes on in bright flashing neon, and no one can come near mama for a few hours because she has gone nuclear-level angry. It isn’t fair to me, and it isn’t fair to them.

    I have sat down countless times and tried to apply my teacher skills to my home. I have made chore wheels and sticker charts and lists of necessary tasks to keep the household running and then matched them with the ages and abilities of the people in the house, but no matter what program I try to start, it always falls flat because I am the only one enforcing it. Then, I am extra tired from trying to enforce systems that are made by me, taught by me, coached by me, enforced by me, and rewarded by me. I guess the bottom line for me is this: when do I get a break? When do I get the backup and support that I need so that I don’t blow up and fall apart and break? Because if I break, how will the house run without me? My rational brain knows that it will continue. Everything will be a mess. We will get ants and a rodent infestation and possibly roaches from the lack of cleaning. No one will ever have clean clothes. Dinner every night will be frozen pizza. No one will get to school on time because no one will go to bed at a reasonable hour. Things for school will fall through the cracks because no one will check backpacks or emails or respond to parent-teacher conference sign-ups or read library books and log them or set up IEP meetings and 3-year re-evaluations. School picture day will be just another day. No one will ever make it to a doctor or dental checkup. Vaccines will be out of date, and fluoride rinses will be a thing of the past. All will be mayhem and madness. Holidays will go undecorated and uncelebrated. No presents, and bright wrapping paper or bows. No cookies with frosting and sprinkles everywhere. No Halloween chili, Thanksgiving pies, Christmas Eve charcuterie, New Year appetizer spread, or Easter tapioca dessert. All will be sadness and plain.

    Some days I wonder if they even realize how much I do and how much weight it all puts on me. Some of the weight is light (decorating for holidays and carving pumpkins, for example), but it still has a time cost, and I am broke. I just wish, for once, that while I am making this thing called life happen, someone would see that I am slowly losing inches on my stature from all of the pressure to just survive. How will I make ends meet this week? How will we afford to fill our gas tanks? What will I put on the menu this week and how will we afford the grocery bill? And I am so tired of being a short-order cook. I don’t want to keep making three dinners every freaking night. Just eat what I make!!! (See, approach with caution). What do you mean we are out of chips for lunch? I bought the huge box. You ate 5 bags after school? That is not what those are for! (Approach with caution). You spilled red juice drink on my bed? Why were you drinking anything but water in a bedroom and why in MY BEDROOM??? What, was that? And the cat peed on my bed, again? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME??? (Approach with caution). I am so tired of cleaning up after other creatures. I love my kids and my cat with my whole heart, but I am not a maid for hire. Why are you so messy? Cat, there is no reason for you to pee on my bed. I am really sorry that summer is over and that I went back to work. I miss you too, but peeing on my bed is not a good way to work on our relationship.

    Breathe in.

    Breathe out.

    You are calm.

    You are calm.

    You are calm.

    You are not calm.

    You are about to lose your ever-loving mind.

    I wish that I could find some way to get all members of my house to see that we are a team and that we all live here, but it has proven so difficult. I am steering a ship with one oar, and I am tired, so for now, I guess people will have to continue to approach me with caution because I never know how I will respond to a situation despite my best efforts to be calm.

  • Post 25: 8/9/26 Knowing Versus Doing

    Post 25: 8/9/26 Knowing Versus Doing

    Cup Status: Empty

    Knowing something versus doing something are two different things. I know I need to eat fewer carbs to help keep my diabetes under control, but actually doing so requires me to consume less bread, fewer items that contain processed sugar, and fewer foods that are high on the glycemic index, etc. Just knowing that I should do so does not help my health. I can know that I should exercise in order to have a strong body, but if I never do something about it, then my treadmill will sit in the corner of the room gathering dust. I can know that I should not stick a fork in the electrical outlet, but if I do that very thing, I am likely to injure myself or even die. Knowing that I should not drink gasoline because it will poison me and then not doing so are…not the same thing. So, knowing something and doing something are not the same. See a pattern? I can know or understand something, and I can take that knowledge and understanding and take action based on it and do something, and then there is a connection between the two. However, until the action is taken, the knowledge is, in essence, ineffective, impotent, moot.

    So much of my life I battled feelings of self-worth. I have fought with my internal demons telling me that I wasn’t good enough or that I wasn’t pretty enough. That no matter how hard I worked or tried, I would not amount to anything. It didn’t help that I had a horrible stepdad who said similar things to me or said them loud enough during fights with my mom that I could hear them. My personal favorite was, “She is so fat and ugly that no one will ever love her.” That was a real gem that still rolls around in my brain from time to time. I may be a bit on the chubby side, but I am not ugly, and I am loved, so he can suck it. Then there was the principal at my first teaching job, who, rather than support me during a difficult time, told me that some people weren’t cut out to be teachers and that he knew of one who quit teaching after the first semester and went to be a dishwasher in a restaurant. Guess who left his job as principal at semester? Him. Guess who is still teaching? Me. Anywho…Then there was the horrible department head who never supported me and accused me of not grading essays, but just assigning grades to them without actually reading them, and many other false accusations, none of which were true. She told administration that I was a terrible teacher and needed to be let go. I wasn’t fired, btw. Funny how, when put into a supportive environment with good leadership, I was able to shine. I give these somewhat petty examples to say that I battle with feeling like I am not lovable and like I am not a good teacher, etc. I know that that is not true, but these are falsehoods that I fight internally every day, and these three examples aren’t the only ones that I could give. There are more private ones that I am keeping to myself. So, when someone knows ways to love me and take care of me and chooses to do little about it, it brings up these feelings all over again. Am I worthy? Am I loved? Do I matter? To them…

    You see, my love language is acts of service. This is how I show love. I take care of people. I want to be taken care of. But when I am stressed, I hide under a rock in my cave of solitude and pretend life doesn’t exist. It’s a very healthy way to deal with stress, actually. Just binge-watch TV and eat Cheetos and tell the stress to go away. Right? Right. No, really, when I get stressed, I push off all responsibility except what is necessary for survival and go into lockdown mode. It isn’t a pretty sight. I am functioning on the outside, but on the inside I am frozen, and I need help to make me function again, but when I see no “doing” going on around me and that it is all me again…I throw in the towel. What is the point in trying when it is just me…again…pick up the dirty clothes. The socks. The plates. The empty soda cans. The shoes. The dirty shirts flung over chairs. Do the dishes that didn’t get done last night. Make the menu. Go grocery shopping. Make dinner. Make the kids’ lunches. Set out their clothes. Do the laundry. Fold the laundry. Put the laundry away. Sweep the floor. Mop the floor. Vacuum the floor. Bathe the kids. Brush the kids’ teeth. Check their backpacks. Sign the school forms. Pay the bills. Faculty meeting after school. Make sure the grass gets cut (at least we pay someone to do that). Take care of other yard maintenance. Make sure the kids have clothes and shoes that fit. Buy a present for the birthday party they have to go to. Get treats for the class party. Everyone needs costumes for Halloween. Cat needs flea medicine refilled. Can’t miss the bus again. Trash can to the curb on Monday. We are out of chicken nuggets again? Yes, I’ll read a book before bed. Must complete that curriculum thing for work. Oh, don’t forget parent-teacher conferences. Shit! I forgot to get a Christmas present for the teachers! I guess it will be a New Year present. Must fill out Valentine’s cards. Gotta grade that stack of essays. When is the last time I changed the sheets on the beds? Schedule dentist appointments and doctor checkups and vaccinations. Wait, have I been to the doctor or the dentist this year? How many months have I been wearing these contacts? Oh, hell, I don’t know. I can wait. Is this a panic attack or a heart attack? I don’t have time for this…

    Please, if you know that a person needs help, please DO something and help them because knowing and doing are not the same thing.

  • Post #24 8/3/26: Memories-My Greatest Inheritance

    Post #24 8/3/26: Memories-My Greatest Inheritance

    Cup Status: Running Over

    I am currently reading Inheritance by Dani Shapiro. While I am not finished with it, I am 3/4 of the way through it; it has brought to mind so many thoughts about where I have come from and the importance of family. Specifically, reading Shapiro talk about the importance of her DNA and her family lineage upon discovering that the man she knew to be her father is actually not her biological father, I began to think about my own family and the important place they have in my life as well. While I personally do not have any crazy moments like this that I have experienced, my grandpa was adopted, and thanks to Ancestry, he was able to find several members of his biological family when he was well into his 70’s. It is this grandpa and my grandma that Inheritance has brought to mind page after page. Shapiro talks about how the walls of her home are covered in the images of her ancestors and how her son wore the prayer shawl of her father for his bar mitzvah. My home is also filled with pictures of family, and I wore jewelry that belonged to my grandma on the day of my wedding.

    I lost my grandparents within one day of each other in 2019. I will never forget getting the phone call about my grandpa’s death. I was teaching, and my husband called me at school. He rarely called me during the school day unless there was an emergency. He had called me on the school phone and not on my cell, which was even more concerning. We had planned to go the very next day to visit my grandpa and grandma because my grandma was not doing well. We had made the drive the weekend before to visit because we did not know how much time she had left. Little did we know that my grandpa was far worse than he had let on, though his health was not great. When I answered the phone and heard Jamie’s voice, I just knew that my grandma had passed and that I had missed my final chance to say goodbye, but when he told me he was sorry and that my grandpa had died, I felt the world tilt. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I fell to my knees in shock. I remember saying into the phone that he wasn’t that bad off and that he was fine last weekend, as Jamie kept saying, “I know. I’m so sorry.” I remember telling him that I needed to go. I told my students to excuse me for a minute. I called my principal and asked if she could come to my classroom. I told her at the door what happened, and I went to the library to one of the study rooms for some privacy to process the news I had just received. This was the man who was there for so many of the major events of my life. He was there after the birth of my children to hold them. He danced with me at my wedding after suffering a major stroke. He said that he would recover so that we could share that dance, and it was the most special dance of my life.

    Grandpa and Grandma were there for me at marching band banquets and band concerts and plays, and when I was baptized and when I needed to learn how to drive a stick shift, and no one else had the patience to teach me, and when I needed a last-minute babysitter because I was sick or when my parents were fighting, and I needed to get away. I spent whole summers at their house and brought my friends for week-long slumber parties. What made this loss even worse was that I wasn’t able to say goodbye. I had hugged him and kissed him the weekend before and told him I would see him in a few days, but I didn’t hug him long enough. I didn’t treasure that moment enough because we had more time. If only I had known. With my grandma, I was preparing my heart as best I could, but Grandpa was a shock. The next day, we drove to see Grandma and the rest of the family who had gathered to be around her and to console each other over the loss of Grandpa. I hugged my mom and my aunts and uncles. Relatives had come from far and wide to say goodbye. It was almost like the old days when we had so many people at holiday gatherings that it was standing room only. We shared grandpa stories and took turns holding grandma’s hand and sitting by her bedside. She was not aware of her surroundings anymore, and our vigil was more for us than for her. When it was my turn, I talked to her and thanked her for everything she had done for me throughout my life. She had sewn beautiful dresses for me. She altered my wedding dress; she is the only one I would trust with something so precious. She embroidered my initials onto a handkerchief for me to carry at my wedding, for the inevitable tears. She taught me how to make the best biscuits and gravy and bread pudding anyone has ever had. Her pumpkin pie is the only one that I will eat. I hate all other pumpkin pie. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, she made a pie for each grandchild, and mine was always a custard pie. I miss those pies so much, but I miss her more. I remember when she took her last breath. Those of us who stayed through the late hour made a circle around her and told her it was ok to let go. She had lived well and loved us all, and we will all be ok because of her. We touched a part of her body and said I love you. Then, it was as if on cue, she took her last breath. My aunt, who is a nurse, took her stethoscope and checked her pulse in several places on her body. When she was certain her pulse was gone, she wrote down her time of death, and we all held each other and cried. Then, she called hospice, and the workers came, and my uncle, who is also a nurse, helped to put her body into a body bag. I think that is the strangest sight I have ever seen. I knew that the body wasn’t my grandma anymore, but those arms had hugged me so many times that to see them in a zipped-up bag was just so surreal. Never again would I watch her dexterously cross-stitch or roll out the flakiest pie dough or rock a new grandchild or great-grandchild. Never again would I call her and talk to her on the phone and ask her advice about some mundane thing.

    When I pass the road where they used to live as I fly down the interstate going from place to place, I am so tempted to get off at the exit and drive the familiar path to the house where so many memories were made. What I wouldn’t give to own that house and make memories there again. Grief is a strange emotion. I will go days and days without thinking about them, and then I read a few lines in a book, and they are all I can think about. I see a cardinal out my window while I am cooking, and I think of them (the Saint Louis Cardinals were their favorite team, and they loved cardinal birds, and cardinal birds are said to be the souls of lost loved ones). Tears are streaming down my face as I type this because the pain of their loss is as real today as it was the days they died. So, I am going to write about a few memories of two of my favorite people who loved me fiercely and with their whole hearts despite having over 100 grandchildren (we have a bit of a large family…).

    One of my favorite things my grandpa would do when he would stop by our house was leave a note. The note was always oddly specific and completely made up. He would say something like, “Dear Family, I stopped by at 1:08 pm and knocked on the door 7 times, but no one answered, so I let myself in. Since I was here, I did 2.5 loads of laundry using 6.25 ounces of laundry soap. I was hungry while doing the laundry, so I went into your fridge and heated up 4.75 ounces of spaghetti and drank 8.6 ounces of milk. I will pay you back for these items the next time I am in town. For now, add them to my tab. -Love, Grandpa.” The number of times he stopped in and did some chores around our house and ate some strange amount of leftovers cannot be calculated, but the notes always made me laugh. When he taught me to drive a stick shift, he gave me a report card with interesting grades as well…Grandpa is also the man who installed a sidewalk in our backyard using highway-grade rebar. Good luck to whoever tries to remove that in the future…When he built something, it was to last. Grandpa would build anything for anyone if he had the materials, and if he didn’t, he could scavenge almost anything he needed. My siblings and I wanted a playhouse. So, he got together some random materials and built us one in an afternoon. We came home from school, and there was the most perfectly built playhouse that had the oddest-looking exterior. All of the boards were different colors and textures and sizes, but when you stood back, it was the perfect little house. We loved it! When I was moving into my first apartment during college, I mentioned that I needed some furniture and asked if he could keep an eye out for me. Two weeks later, I had everything I needed, and he would not accept a dime from me. Since I was graduating in December, they even brought me a Christmas tree and a box of vintage ornaments. Grandpa and Grandma said it was a graduation present. I cried. I now had a dining table, a couch, a recliner, a desk, a washer and dryer, and a dresser. My first apartment on my own was ready!

    Other favorite memories involved spending time with my two favorite people. Grandpa was a Trekie for sure. We would sit together on the couch and eat popcorn that we made in the air popper and watch Star Trek for hours. It was so much fun. I like to think it is because of Grandpa that I enjoy sci-fi as much as I do. With Grandma, it was scrapbooking. Grandpa had built a garage with an apartment above it that sat behind their main house and was connected by a breezeway. One of the bedrooms was a scrapbooking room (This later was expanded into the main area as the collection of supplies grew and grew). Grandma and I would gather our pictures and supplies, and we would scrapbook with each other, and we would talk about life and everything that was going on. I did this mostly during college and some during the summer when I began teaching. I wish that it had continued as I got older, but as I had children, life got busier and this tradition fell away, but they are some of my most treasured memories. Now, when I scrapbook or at least when I look at my scrapbooking supplies…because busy, I think of her and wish she was sitting across from me telling me about the pictures she is scrapping and the history of the people in them.

    Grandpa and Grandma’s house was also for celebrations. Christmas and the Fourth of July were the big holidays that we celebrated there. Thanksgiving and Easter were celebrated at my auntie’s house. I loved going to their house for holidays. There were so many cousins to play with and so much chaos and so much good food to eat. I remember one Christmas, before they sold the Farm (as we called it), there were so many people that it was standing room only, and as people unwrapped their presents, the wrapping paper was waist-high on me (I was an adult in my early 30’s at the time), and it was over the heads of many of the smaller children. It was so much fun! I wish that we could go back to the days of Grandpa and Grandma holding court on the couch while a few of the grandchildren play elf and pass presents out to everyone, and we are all smiles and laughter, and there isn’t a care in the world. I also miss the days of the Fourth of July when the bottle rockets were as endless as the barbecue pork steaks that my uncles were grilling on the barrel grills. We saved our pennies for weeks so that we could buy as many fireworks as possible at the tents that sprang up at the beginning of July, begging our parents for more money when we inevitably put more in our baskets than we could afford. Then, the hoards of cousins blew up as much as possible while trying not to light themselves on fire, while adults were off playing horseshoes, not concerning themselves with us at all. We would play in the “galvanized pool,” aka horse trough, and have a grand time until the food was finished. Then we would go into the air-conditioned garage where we held many of our celebrations (my own engagement party and many of the birthday parties for my firstborn were held in this garage as well) to load up our plates. The day ended with a huge fireworks display set off by the uncles and the braver of the cousins while we sat on blankets or in lawn chairs saying, “OOOHHHH AAAAHHHH!!!!!” Then we would go home or stay the night with Grandpa and Grandma.

    These are the days that I dream of. I can close my eyes and still feel my bare feet walking on the night-cool grass, my eyes adjusting from the dark night to the brighter lights of the garage/apartment as I approach Grandpa and Grandma’s house after the amazing fireworks. I can hear the sounds of bugs and frogs in the night air. I can smell the sulfur wafting on the wind and the sweet smell of summer. Then I feel the cool of the air conditioning as I enter the garage, and then the crushing embrace of my grandma with her telltale smell of perfume, something slightly powdery and floral at the same time, mixed with the sweet sweat of summer. “Did you have a good day?” She asks. “Do I have to go home?” I ask as usual. But the truth is, home is always where she is and where he is. I think that’s why I miss them so much. I feel unmoored without them. Homeless almost. Like, my heart doesn’t know where to land some days. Because if home is wherever I am with you, what happens when you are gone?

  • Post #7: 8/1/25: Jello Molds and Garlic Bread

    Post #7: 8/1/25: Jello Molds and Garlic Bread

    Cup Status: Full

    Today, I convinced my husband to leave work a little bit earlier than normal so that we could head to a larger town near where we live and go thrifting and then go out to dinner. It did not take too much from me to get him to agree. Lol! I got the kids and myself ready to go and as soon as he arrived home, we piled in the car and headed off to have some fun! We stopped at the first thrift shop and looked around for treasures. I struck out and so did my husband, but my daughter found a feminist Barbie that I thought was kind of interesting and then she found a Disney princess rolling suitcase that she just had to have. My son came home with a nerf gun and a cat piano. So, not too bad for out first stop. I had wanted to stop here to buy something that I had seen a few weeks before, but had decided not to buy during that trip. Unfortunately, it was no longer there. I never learn. I must follow the cardinal rule of thrifting. If I see something that I want, I have to buy it then or it might not be there later. Sigh.

    So, we were off to store number two where we took advantage of the 50% off on shoes sale! My daughter fell in love with some princess high tops and came home with them. I was able to find several items that I have been looking for and it caused me to break out in a happy dance! The first item I found is the first volume in the Anne of Green Gables series (the one re-published when I was a kid). I had lost it somewhere along the line and really wanted to re-complete my set because it was my favorite series when I was growing up and to see the first volume missing made me so sad. But, not anymore. The pastel pink cover again sits next to its other pastel counterparts ready for me to dive in and experience the triumphs and despairs of my favorite Ann-with an “E”. Then, I was able to add to my grandma-chic collection of copper and pink aluminum Jell-O molds. I found a matching set of flower-ish molds, a bag full of matching mini-bundt style molds, and the ever-illusive rooster mold! I was so excited! My son didn’t find anything that he wanted because he has a very particular list of things that he likes and doesn’t like.

    We then headed to the third and final thrift store where the 50% off shoe sale provided my daughter with the best buy of the day! She found a pair of metallic gold, light-up, roller sneakers in her size! They were the exact same ones that are currently on her Amazon wish list. She was so excited! I also found two more Jell-O molds to add to my collection! A round one with cherry imprints in it and a star shaped one. This was the day for molds! Some days I don’t find any molds and then, today, it was AWESOME!!! My husband did finally find a speaker that he can use for his home studio set up, so that was awesome too! My son used his shopping time to visit the skittle machine at the front of the store several times and he did start to make it clear that he was ready to eat. My husband seconded the dinner vote and away we went.

    We decided to head to one of our favorite restaurants. It had been closed for quite some time for renovations and we hadn’t been able to eat there in forever. As we drove up to the new façade, it was crazy how different it looked and yet how familiar it was at the same time. This restaurant holds a special place in my heart. It is a place that I ate at and shared pitchers of beer with friends on countless occasions. It is where groups of my fellow student teachers gathered to share our stories of triumph and woe. It is where I took my family when they came to visit me during college and after I settled to live in my college town. It is where my husband and I had our second date. It is the first restaurant we took our first born to. During the Covid 19 shut down, I made sure to order take out from there to help support them. So, when we walked inside and it looked so completely different, it was a bit weird at first, but then, I saw the table by the window where I sat so many times before. I saw the same footprint, just with upgraded finishes and realized that with so much of my life, the footprint is the same, but the finishes are different. Some might be an upgrade from the me of the past, some might need a bit of a renovation, let’s be honest, but when I walk around inside, I still see all of the good memories that are there and all of the great days that are to come. It’s so odd how important places like this bring up so much. The flavor of the cheese garlic bread was exactly the same as the first time I tasted it. The flavor of the pesto cream sauce, exactly the same. The house dressing on the side salad, the same. The person eating it, not the same. I sat there with my husband and two of my three children and watched all of us enjoying a meal while I looked over at the table by the window where it all began 20 years ago and it was such a surreal moment. The two people who sat at that other table had no idea what their lives were going to be like 20 years later, but it is a beautifully, chaotic life. The cheese garlic bread used to have leftovers when it was just the two of us. We only needed one bread basket. Now, we were lucky to get a piece each of bread from the basket and a piece of cheese garlic bread as our children descended on both like they had never seen bread before (they most certainly have eaten plenty of bread). Lol! We finished up our meal, paid the bill, and walked out the same doorway that I had countless times before, but I was a much different person than the one who first walked through that door, but I wasn’t so different that I didn’t want dessert, so we headed off to get some frozen goodness and then to head home from our day of adventure and fun.

  • Post #6: 7/31/25: The Trappings of Life

    Post #6: 7/31/25: The Trappings of Life

    Cup Status: Emptying One Drop at a Time

    Today, I am still thinking about stuff. Belongings. Things. Items. The trappings of life. The reason this has been on my mind so much lately is because I have been helping my mother in law clean out her parents’ house. They built this house in the 1950’s with their own hands. Her father saw a picture of the front of the house with a floor plan in a magazine and he used that to help him build the house. They lived in the house for 70 years. Raised 2 children in the house. Had a wedding the house. Celebrated many holidays in the house. Made countless meals in the house. Lived life in the house. Now, all these years later, we are sifting through the evidence of those years.

    They both lived through the great depression and lean times when they didn’t have much. As a result of this, they saved anything and everything that could be useful or that might be needed again one day. They saved anything and everything that was ever given to them. Because of this, my mother in law and I have been sorting through boxes and boxes of greeting cards sent with love and piles of used gift bags and tissue paper that could be used again and bags of pens gathered from various banks and conventions and hotels across the years. We have found receipts for the purchase of building materials back in 1961 and the first payment coupons for the mortgage back in the 1950’s. We have found four generations of baby shoes. 100’s of bobby pins and dozens of hair nets. We have found mementos of work achievements. 25 years with the company and then 30 years and then retirement. We have found outfits through the decades and have had a good chuckle at the fashion choices. Did Papa really have a tie with mushrooms on it? Did Grandma ever wear all of those sweater vests that we found? We don’t remember seeing her wear those. We have found tons of tiny Ziploc bags with buttons in them in case the original falls off of the garment they came with. We have found so many glass jars from spaghetti sauce and salsa and jelly. You never know when you might need a good jar. We have found 12 pairs of nail clippers, so far. We have found so, so many things. But, we have also found love letters written when their relationship was new when they called each other their “Dearest Darling.” We have found decades of pictures showing the expansion of family and the growth of love. Sifting through the evidence of lives well-lived and people who are dearly loved and missed has been both difficult and so, so beautiful. It makes me think about the items that are important and the items that will one day end up in a trash bag. What is worth cherishing and preserving now for later? What has true value and what is just stuff? That is the lesson that I have been learning lately.

  • Post #5: 7/30/25: Too Much Stuff

    Post #5: 7/30/25: Too Much Stuff

    Cup Status: 1/2 Full

    So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about stuff. Belongings. The things we choose to bring into our homes, collect, display, keep, save for later, etc. This topic has been on my mind because my family moved twice in 2024 and each time we needed to downsize our belongings in order to fit better into our new home. Our first home was 3600 square feet and had an additional shop building that was at least 1,000 square feet, but I don’t remember exactly. And, we filled it up. I collected holiday decorations and outdoor children’s toys and craft projects to get to one day and our children had more toys than they could possibly play with in a year if they played with a different toy each day. My husband and I both have hobbies that take up quite a bit of space (I scrapbook and read lots of books which requires the collecting and storage of lots of crafting supplies and books, of course). My husband is a music guy and loves vinyl, so he has a collection that would rival any record store (and of course he needs to have the equipment to play them on, and the backup turntable if the primary one goes out and this other turntable will be awesome if he can get it fixed one day and and and…). We also really like to get things for free, so when people give things to us, neither of us are too good at saying no, especially if it is something for our kids. So, after 12 years in the same house, we needed to get rid of mountains of things, stuff, clutter, weight before we could move forward to a new beginning. We loved the potential that our house had, but we had reached the limits of our DIY skills and budget and it was time to bid a sad farewell to well-intentioned plans. So, we began the process of sifting through the things. I was ready to say goodbye to the clutter. I had watched the shows on Netflix and read the Marie Kondo books. I could identify what sparked joy and what was practical and necessary and what was sentimental. I also knew that I disagreed with dear Ms. Kondo about how many books to keep, but I did agree that I didn’t need three copies of War and Peace…my husband, on the other hand, was not in the same place of readiness as me. I’m pretty sure that we moved with him parting with one box of items, but that’s ok. He wasn’t ready. My kids were following in their dad’s footsteps, so I helped them when they were not home. I weeded through the masses of Happy Meal toys and broken things that I had no idea what they were, but they had clearly lost their function. I matched up dolls with outfits and put Legos all in one bin. I was an organization master! I could teach a master class on this! But, when it was time to squeeze it all into moving trucks, it still took 6 trucks and countless trips in my own car in the weeks before we hired movers to get the big stuff. Dear goodness. We moved into a temporary rental while we waited for our dream home. This is where the real trial began. I began stating the mantra, “If it doesn’t fit, it can’t stay.” My husband was getting on board. He could see the wisdom in this. Our rental house was 1800 square feet. Our two boys were sharing a room. My husband and I were sharing a closet. GASP!!! We used the garage as craft and music room as well as storage and where the deep freeze and extra fridge went. It was also where my library/office went and our work out equipment (did I mention that I am a master organizer?). Also, I once fit half of a dorm room into a Ford Aspire. Yeah. I did that. We filled boxes with more items to part with and each of us, even the kids, started seeing our things with less value in the “need” category and as more of a nuisance. Something they had to find a place for and keep clean so that they could function in their smaller spaces. I cut my wardrobe by half and discovered that all I did was cut out the clothes I never wore anyway. It was really nice. Then, a few months later, and much earlier than we had planned, we found our dream home on the market. It is 2400 square feet. A little smaller than we had planned, but the perfect style in the perfect neighborhood. Everyone has their own bedrooms again. My husband and I have our own closets again. We love it! But, with another move, came another round of purging. With another round of unpacking and finding places for things, came another round of, “If it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t stay.” This time I also added, “If it doesn’t fit my decorating style or a wall in this house, it doesn’t stay.” I had to add this because I had boxes of home decor that I was saving for my forever home. Well, we are in it. This is THE home. So, there goes the wall decor I bought ten years ago and never hung up. There goes the curtains I never used because I never had a window to use them on. There goes the candle holder I never used because I didn’t have a mantle for it and now that I have a mantle, I didn’t like it anymore. Letting go of stuff has helped me to lighten my emotional load as well as the physical load in my house. Now, the only items I store are the holiday decorations that I actually use and the outdoor toys and garden items that we actually use. It feels so good. I also make it a point to only bring things into our home that I love or need. My kids definitely have not kept the ways we have learned, but I am trying to help them to remember. “If it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t stay.” Why do we allow our things to have so much power over us? When we have stuff we have to tend to it. Move it around. Dust it. Store it. Feel guilty about not using it. Get mad if someone breaks it. I know that I will never be a minimalist, but I am glad that I have a healthier view of stuff than I did a year ago.

  • Post #2: 7/27/25: My People

    Post #2: 7/27/25: My People

    Cup Status: Runneth Over

    There are some people who enter our lives for a short period of time, a chapter if you will. Then there are those who are there for a lifetime, an epic poem, a series of novels that you never want to end. This is the case with my group of friends. We have been friends since roughly 2000. With some forming the core earlier and some joining slightly later. But the reality is that we have been friends for 25 years. That is amazing. We have seen each other through transitioning from high school to college. Our fledgling steps into adulthood when we learned and failed and learned some more how to pay bills and cook and date and fall in love and heal from heartbreak and hangovers and bad haircuts and dye jobs. We made midnight runs to Walmart and 3:00 am runs to Krispy Kreme doughnuts 3 hours away because that was the closest one. We shared so many firsts with each other in our 20’s and then our 30’s and now our 40’s. To say that I love this group of women is an understatement. They are my people. I never have to explain myself to them. I can be myself around them. I can say whatever I need to without a preface or an apology that diminishes me. They see me and understand me and get me. They always have my back. This weekend I got to enjoy a few hours with my people. It was exactly what I needed. It filled my cup.

    We gathered together at one of the friend’s houses and ate snacks and talked. It was heavy talk at first. Several of us are going through some things. We talked about one of us moving away soon. That is going to be a difficult transition even though we are so happy for her. We talked about the beauty and sadness of preparing to send your only child off to her first year of college. The what if’s of the future and the free time in the fall that is to come. We talked about our various childhoods and the concerns we have over our aging parents, one of us in particular worried about next steps in daily care. We talked about the stresses of our jobs and wishing we could come up with a better way for things to run, but we came up short. And I talked about my recent panic attack. I had never had one before that I knew of, but I had one the night before and it struck me hard. It started with heart palpitations (I have been having them a few times a week for a month now). Then my arms and legs started going numb. Then I felt light-headed. But, I checked my pulse and my oxygen level and everything was normal, so I sat down and told myself that this was temporary. I counted five things I could see, four things I could touch, etc. until my heart rate returned to normal and the crying stopped. I sat there after it ended and felt exhausted and rung out. The weird thing is that before it started, I had been sitting down, watching my current distraction, Grey’s Anatomy and working on curriculum for the school year when it began. I had not felt stressed or anxious or worried about anything. Actually, it was quite the opposite. I was coming up with a creative idea for the lesson that I was writing and it was really exciting. But then, bam. I was panicking. What was the cause? I didn’t know.

    My people understood. They were there with words of comfort and suggestions to help when another one happens because it probably will. I don’t know what has brought on the anxiety recently, but my girls had some ideas and we talked through them for the next little bit. I feel like, without them, I would be lost. Those moments of connection and understanding and most importantly, no judgement, are everything to me. We ended the night at a restaurant eating chips and salsa and enjoying margaritas and laughing until we cried tears of joy. I will never look at chimpanzees and vultures or the Great Wall of China the same again, but that is why I love these girls. They are my people and they fill my cup when it is bone dry. My wish for everyone is that they too will find their people or at least their person who can do the same for them.

  • Post #1: 6/9/25: Losing Myself

    Post #1: 6/9/25: Losing Myself

    Status: Cup is half-full

    I went walking today for the first time in months. I love to walk. Around tracks at the park. Along trails in the woods. On the streets of my neighborhood. By waterways. I love walking. When I am walking, I feel like I find myself. I do my best thinking while walking. My best epiphanies happen. Best comeback lines. Best first lines of chapters of novels I may never write. But, for the past few months  I haven’t gone walking. For the past few months instead of finding myself, I have been losing myself. Slowly, but surely. I was there and then I wasn’t. It was such a gradual change that I didn’t even realize it was happening until one day, I found myself picking up a book to read and I just didn’t care about it. This is strange for me because I love to read. Or, at least, I used to. I used to devour books. I could sit down all day and read a book from cover to cover. But recently, I would read a few pages and then lay the book down and stare off at nothing. I love to plan. I love to plan a party. A vacation. An organization project. Anything. But, lately, I would start the planning phase of the project and lose interest before I had even gathered my notebook and pen. I used to love to menu plan and try new recipes, but…you see where this is going. What happened to me? Where have I gone? These have been the questions circling around in my mind for the last few months and I am no closer to answering them now than I was then. A lot has happened in my life recently, and that has contributed to these feelings, but I need to get back on track. 

    So, what has happened? 

    March 31st. I woke up and got the kids ready for school. Everything was going according to plan except that my husband was sick. He was staying home from work and had been planning on going to Urgent Care later that day. We thought he might have bronchitis because his coworker had it the week before. However, when I went to say bye to him before leaving for work, I couldn’t wake him up. This was the single most terrifying moment of my life. I shook him. I yelled his name. That’s when I noticed he had thrown up. He was sweating profusely. And, as I shook him, his breathing became very labored. He opened his eye-lids slightly and that’s when I saw how yellow the whites of his eyes were and that his eyes were rolled back in his head. I yelled for my oldest son to bring me my phone because it was in the other room. I panicked and my first thought was, “Call school because you will need a sub today.”  Ok. Full stop. My husband was unresponsive and my first thought was, “I need to call work.” What is wrong with me? Why was that my first thought? I had even opened my phone app and pulled up the school’s number before I shook my head and said out loud to myself, “No, Call 911 first.” The irony is that my student’s were currently reading Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis and I had never more identified with the character of Gregor than I did at that moment. No, I had not turned into a human-sized bug, but when Gregor woke up completely transformed, his first thought was that he had missed the train to work and that he was going to miss the next one as well. He completely overlooked the fact that he was a freaking human-sized bug…with an exoskeleton and antennae, and a million legs…I feel like that would be the thing I would be worried about before work. Yet, here I was, staring at my version of a human-sized bug and all I could think about was work. At a later time, when things were more stable, I wondered what that says about us and about the conditioning that humans have undergone over the years that in our most emotionally vulnerable state, we think, not of ourselves, but of our jobs. Don’t get me wrong, I love my career. I love where I work. I’m a teacher. Are there days I question the choices of my 18 year old self? Yes. But that would be true of any career choice I had made. Are there days when I want to yell at my high school students, “Please, just trust me on this one! You will see that I am right, one of these days.” Yes, but I don’t. 

    But, my husband was dying in front of me, and all I could think of was work. This is partly when I began to realize that I had lost myself. When the ambulance arrived, I comforted my son, called my mother-in-law, called my mom or my sister (I can’t remember which was first), I messaged my group of best friends, and I texted my in-laws’ church prayer group. I needed my village around me because I was starting to realize that I wasn’t strong enough on my own. This was another sign that I was lost. I could always weather any storm. I am strong. I am enough. I can do anything on my own. But, I couldn’t do this. I watched as the paramedics tried to get a response from my husband. I waited anxiously with my mother-in-law and son for updates as they stabilized and prepped him in the ambulance for transport. I held it together as best I could. Like a true Hufflepuff, I got my mother-in-law a sweater. I got her coffee. I soothed my son. I answered texts and calls. People asked what I needed, as if I knew. My husband might be dead any minute. I had no idea what I needed. Usually I have all of the answers. But, I didn’t right then. And I didn’t for the next two weeks. Thankfully, my mom, dad, sisters, and brother knew what I needed more than I did. So did several members of my in-laws’ church and my best friends. Within hours, as my husband was eventually air-lifted to a hospital much further away, I was surrounded by family and friends, while more friends and family were taking care of my kiddos, and within days so many people had come together to help us with food and financial donations. I was overwhelmed with grief at the unstable status of my husband, overwhelmed with gratitude at the outpouring of love we were receiving, and overwhelmed at what the future would hold. I am not one to ask for help, so this was really hard to receive and accept, but that was another part of losing myself. 

    You see, my parents divorced when I was 9 and I took on quite a bit of responsibility around the house at a young age. I am not blaming or shaming them here; I understand now, as a parent, that they were doing the best they could with what they had at the time. But, this did teach me to be responsible and to be self-sufficient, sometimes to a fault. I will often, finagle things to work out in the short term (without having to ask for help) even if it is not the best idea in the long run…here’s looking at you pay-day loan that I got in my 20’s…So, when Jamie, my husband, was unresponsive, I went numb. I couldn’t function. I didn’t know what to do. You can’t finagle this. All I could do was wait and I am not a patient person. 

    The other reason that asking for help was so difficult is because many of the people who were so generous and giving were from my in-laws’ church. I could say from my church or Jamie’s church, but that is no longer true. Jamie went to that church from before he was born up until 2021. I know that I am the reason he no longer goes. I went with him from the time we started dating until 2021, for a total of 15 years. We hadn’t attended that church, or any church, since November of 2021. I had been trying to step away for personal reasons for quite some time and it was around my birthday in 2021, that I decided it was time. For my sake, I had to make the split. If anyone from that church reads this, I miss the people (well, most of the people) so much, but church and God and I are not on the best of terms. I won’t go into it more here, because that is a whole series of separate posts for the future, I’m sure. But, receiving help from wonderful people, who our absence had confused and hurt, was difficult and humbling. This also caused me to lose some of myself, my pride. I needed help. I accepted it. I didn’t know how to say thank you for it. I couldn’t adequately express my thankfulness. I still can’t months later. 

    Through this difficult process of my husband’s hospitalization, I’ve come to realize that in losing parts of myself, I’m gaining a wiser version of me. I can loosen the tie to work where it is so all-encompassing in my thoughts. I thought that I had a good work-life balance, but I think it is still a bit out of whack. I can lose some of my control and admit that I don’t know what I need and let others take the reins from time to time (here’s looking at you, Elizabeth, my amazing student teacher during this trying time). It is ok to not be in control all the time. I can lose some of my pride and ask for and receive help. I can also lose some clarity and realize that I am still a work in progress. If the vision of myself in the mirror isn’t always clear, that’s ok too, because I am an ever-growing, ever-changing person. I am continuing to battle loss of interest, but I did begin writing and I walked three miles today, so the cup is half full. Tomorrow, we will see. 

    BTW: Jamie was in a coma for a week. He had a perfect storm of symptoms that caused him to have heart failure, but after two weeks in the hospital and keeping up with doctor’s visits and medication, he is on the long road to recovery.