Because Tuesday's one of my trigger words too

Today I'm feeling less torn and more here. In part thanks to Lindsey, who shared this song. I played it this morning while I made the sandwiches. And then I played it again while I sliced the apples.

Today is play practice, and tomorrow is the Valentine's party, and I'm trying to be grateful that this life makes me available to help with both. Trying not to caveat to myself and to anyone who cares (no one) that this isn't my thing, my "core competency" as we used to say in the consulting world. As supporting evidence that this isn't my thing, I spent no less than two hours last night trying to pull together and print out a Valentine's bingo game. In the age of Google and Pinterest, where it's literally spelled right out for crafty illiterates such as myself, this sort of thing should take about 10 minutes.

What's really maddening about it is that I was holed in the office printing pink swirly bingo cards when I could have been laughing at Portlandia with my husband or penning a moving literary essay or writing a song on my guitar (or learning how to actually play the guitar).

I've decided that there is a way I've always wanted to define myself, and there is a way that I actually am. And the actually am way is significantly less interesting. I am going to have to make peace with that fact, but not until after I learn the guitar.


In a very last minute, claustrophobia-induced move, Larry and I took the kids to dinner and to see The Muppets movie at the cheap seats this weekend. We wanted to go out by ourselves, but the kids are still in that clingy stage of needing supervision for trivial things such as dinner and getting themselves tucked into bed. So between going out with the kids or not at all, we chose out with the kids.

I laughed my way through the movie, because yes, I still love the muppets after all these years. Like, totally, a lot. My kids have already put in a request that I stop shouting "maniacal laugh, maniacal laugh, maaaniacal laaaaugh!" after I deny their requests for such things as leaving their fort up for one more night.


I just got back from my non-paying night job as play practice monitor. Three point five hours supervising up to 87 children, most of them second graders. The word "fried" comes to mind. It will quite possibly be the only word that comes to mind for the next 24 hours.

This post has been brought to you by the brilliant Just Write movement, brainchild of the lovely Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary. So if it seems rambling and pointless, you can blame Heather. Totally all her fault. (Maniacal laugh...maniacal laugh....MANIACAL LAUGH!!) Also? Tuesday seems to be my trigger word, at least when it comes to writing.

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