I'm glad you stopped by. The thing is, I've moved. (It's not you, it's me.)
Here's how it goes every morning: G and Lauren get up by 5, leave for seminary (early morning religious class for high schoolers) at 5:30. G drops her off at 6 and goes on in to work. Because she's the only one at seminary who attends her high school, I leave at 6:30 and go pick her up and take her to school, arriving home around 7:20. (Are you with me? Is this the most exciting paragraph you've ever read?) Now I'm no early bird. But in spite of the crack-of-dawnness, that hour or so is one of my favorites in the day. The sunrise is usually stunning. And it's great chat time with my eldest child, just the two of us (as long as I'm not driving to seminary and all in a dither about punctuality). Don't you love how driving in a car opens up kids to all kinds of topics and reflections? In addition to deepest thoughts and shallowest observations, we share music. Today Journey's Don't Stop Believing came on, a tune which always brings up memories of jr. high afternoon dances and the confusion about whether it was a slow song or a fast one. We were singing along and I belted out the words. "Mom, those aren't the right lyrics." "What?! I think I know my own era songs, thankyouverymuch." "Mom, really, listen when that line comes up again." I did. She was right. It's not "born and raised and self-destroyed" which is how I've been singing it. All. These. Years.Apparently (as I'm sure you all know) it's "born and raised in South Detroit." Whatever. I think my lyrics make more sense. And more universal, for those of us non-Michiganites. Turnabout is fair play, though; Lauren was just getting me back from this time. . . . grateful for: the boost I feel after exercising, our 8 p.m. nightly gathering as a family, and keeping in touch with longtime friends (just had a great phone chat with my college roommate this afternoon) . . . This will be the last post on the blogger site. Come on over to http://basic-joy.com and change your subscription, if you so desire. Sure would hate to miss you over there...
Over the summer we replaced our hardy old minivan Ruby (~200,000 miles!) with a brand new family mobile. This was a long-awaited event and, as we cleared out the flotsam and jetsam from the trusty but stained Ruby, G extracted a promise from each of us: No food in the new car. The kids tried different techniques to test the paternal rule resolve. They sneaked snacks aboard in their pockets, for one. Oh, the folly of youth. These things are always discovered and woe!WOE! unto the child who sneakily munches in the back seat. By their crumbs they are judged. Eventually we all got used to the new reign of foodlessness and all was well. We took 6-hour summer trips where water was the only allowed substance to touch our lips while inside the new vehicle. If sometimes I brought a therapeutic can of Diet Coke into the car, I claimed parental exemption and crossed my fingers. So imagine my horror when I got into the car recently and found that the gear shift between the two front seats was verrrry difficult to move. It stuck and was almost impossible to shift into reverse or drive, especially first thing in the morning. Like something had been spilled nearby. I was pretty sure I hadn't spilled my soda. Had I? HAD I?! Looking closer, I noticed several sticky spots on and around and in(!) the shifter... [click here for the rest of the story on the new site.] . . . Thankful for: my funny (+ honest!) G, the 10 a.m. schedule at church, great car conversations with my kids.
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I'm over at Segullah today, writing about failure and its lessons. Do stop by and even share a story, if you're so inclined.
'My Funny Family' from hailey bartholomew on Vimeo.
Feel like a virtual field trip? A trip to one of my favorite new-to-me sites is a treat. This artistic Australian family of four--photographers, designers, film-makers, gigglers--knows how to have F-U-N. The Bartholemews make me want to invite more fun + zaniness + joy into my life. See them at You Can't Be Serious here. And their Christmas card photo has inspired me...look for a little zaniness from the W clan come December.
p.s. We're getting back on our feet around here! More soon.
p.p.s. Remember I'll be switching over to http://basic-joy.com so switch your reader settings if you're so inclined...
On the third day of sickness, the swine flu(?) gave to me...three coughing people, two fevers over 102, and a feeling that we'll never be free.
(via my facebook status this morn. I was pretty proud of that and it only took me all morning to think of it:))
Okay, if I'm going to be sick and ill equipped to write my qualifying paper (fuzzy brain...oh well!) then I will try to use my quarantine time to plan and scheme...
(click here for the rest...remember to change your settings to basic-joy.com, pretty please.)
Oh, my. We've got it here, the gomboo. Fever, chills, headache, cough. I know we're kind of late to the flu party but here we are! Is there still any guacamole left? (Ugh, cancel that. Guacamole is the last thing we need at this moment. How about popsicles?) We're all in our beds (everyone but G and Maddy), a coughing chorus of germ hosts. Books, check. Water, check. Pillows with the cool side a turn away, check. Rest time, check. Sam, the sickest among us, groans in his sleep with every exhale, a faint little oh with every breath as he naps on the sofa. Lauren feels fine but can't shake the fever--she's been watching movies and texting and seems full of ideas, asking to go for Wendy's frosties/subway sandwiches/movie rentals/driving practice. I'm being a little productive in a slow motion, fuzzy kind of way with lots of forehead checks and drink fetching and temperature taking for the other patients. We will survive. Finger crossed G doesn't get it. He leaves for Paris on business at the end of the week. (Here, France, is our little hostess gift to you: the gomboo.) -------- Grateful for: 1. the skylight in my bedroom with the view of the tenacious yellow leaves 2. duvets 3. advil to bring down fevers
1. I'm thinking of changing the name of Letters to a Parent to The Parentstorialist. Thoughts? (I made up the name, which is probably obvious. Does it make sense? You know--parents, telling stories...kind of like The Sartorialist but for parents...get it?) OR should I just stick with the original--straight forward, kind of boring, but already known? The new site has an upload button to submit letters/stories directly and lots of other added goodies. I love it.2. I'm adding a page about being a student and mom because I get a lot of emails asking for advice about balancing grad school with motherhood. I'll also use that page to talk about what I'm working on so I don't bore the rest of you (and only bore those who are interested in that kind of thing...) What think ye?3. Also, to be unveiled later, is a page on raising children. I have been longing to have a place to keep child development ideas, links & discussions and summarize research I read. What kinds of things do you wonder about or like to read about children and parenting? What sites do you use for child rearing information?Thanks, internet friends! Stay tuned for a sitewarming party in the future...
In our town's police log this week (an entertaining weekly must-read):
6:50 p.m. A Lindsay Pond Road resident reported a suspicious man near her home, wearing a sweatshirt and baseball cap and carrying a beer bottle. The responding officers identified the man as a teacher at middle school, who was out for a walk and carrying a water bottle.
Last week I was thrilled to have a visit with this wonderful lass. Liz and I met between my hometown and hers at a new tapas* bar where she treated me to a birthday lunch (don't you love it when your birthday kind of spills over into the following week?). It was fabulous (the meet-up and the food) and so much fun to sit for a couple of hours with a kindred blog friend.
When I think of the movie Where The Wild Things Are, I will think of Sam wiping his eyes, flat palmed with both hands, as he cried at the end.
I love October with a passion and an ache. Every time I gasp in glee at a tree's audacious over-the-topness it is accompanied by a melancholy that remembers the longlong stark New England winter ahead. Sigh.
"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return."
