Influence

Today during my son's last day of third grade the kids worked on filling a memory book with favorites, thoughts, stories, and pictures from the school year.  As I looked through it, I was shocked to see this:  

I feel like I have influence.

I feel like it isn't what I say, but what I do.

I feel like this is quite a bit of pressure.

Nevertheless, I am touched and proud.
 

Searching for a Pocket of Silence

The wall of sound that comes from my son.

I am an introvert.  And as I age, I seek pockets of silence more intensely.  I'm starting to believe that I need the quiet.

I didn't run today.

Full day at work (lots of noise there) followed by dashing the kid to karate (bad techno, kids making that karate noise), taking the husband to the dealership to pick up his Vespa (husband and son take turns talking and questioning while I drive), making dinner (drive-thru and therefore the quietest moment of my day), and forcing the child to do homework (loud and combative.)    

I paid attention to everything that my son said.  "Hey Mama" preceded every question and complaint.  "Hey Mama...hey Mama...HEY Ma-mA! heymamaheymama!"

I love my extroverted son.

But I need moments of silence.

Today I needed a run.

Moral:  Schedule rest days wisely in the future.

Friday Faves: "I'm not Irish ENOUGH to celebrate" Edition

One of the drawbacks of social media is the fact it has lead to what I like to call conspicuous parenting (slight nod to Thorstein Veblen).  I will not lie.  I know that I have participated and probably will in the future.  It is simply what is done.  St. Patrick's Day is tomorrow.  I lamented to my husband that I felt like a bad mother because I have no plans to do ANYTHING to mark the holiday tomorrow.  Others on Facebook seemed into the spirit for the sake of their kids.  Not me.  There will be no leprechaun footprints.  No gold coins.  No rainbows.  No crafts.  No cabbage.  No beer.  

Well.  

Maybe I can arrange for beer.  

In sharing this with my husband he says, "We're not even Irish.  We don't celebrate."  I then pointed out that while I am not Irish, his Native blood has been spiked with some rogue Irish grandparents on both sides.  He then said, "I'm not Irish enough to celebrate!" 

I found this exchange delightful.  I love my husband.  He can be very charming.  

In face, earlier in the week he saved a bad day from certain disastrous melancholy by bringing home a bag of old postcards that he purchased at a flea market.  This look into the past stirred some strange longings for a simpler time.  A time when the post office would deliver a post card with only the name of the recipient and a town.  No address.  No street.  Simpler times.  But then after perusing what was written on the cards, I realize that these postcards are the old timey version of Facebook and/or Twitter.  I realized that humans have always had this need to share the minor details of their lives with others.  One hundred years ago it may have been news of the cow having milk fever.  

It is like Tobias Fünke's ancestor wrote holiday card copy.

Simply frightening.

Text:  Trimmer, Cal.
This may give you some faint idea of the sort of looking object who
writes to you--and also a hint as to who told me about you.
Excuse scrawl--Have an injured hand.
Kindest regards,
Alan

The front of Alan's card:  "No. 2 Yours truly"

But my favorite moment of the week was watching my son read from The Hunger Games and choose with his own free will to ANNOTATE THE TEXT with his thinking. 

I 

am

so

proud.

Interacting with the text.  heck yeah and stuff.  

  

Friday Faves: Motherhood in Full Effect Edition

My general weekday experience:  Wake up.  Get ready.  Rouse child from bed.  Rouse child again from bed.  Rouse child yet again from bed.  Physically remove child from bed.  Return to room and physically remove child from bed.  Drive kid to grandma's.  Converse en route.  Drop off kid.  Commute.  Work.  Work.  Work.  Work.  Try to sneak in a bathroom break.  Work.  Work.  Work.  Work.  Question sanity.  Work.  Realize that I need to drink more water if I am going to run.  Work.  Work.  Try to sneak in a bathroom break.  Drive home.  Change into running clothes.  Realize something isn't charged like iPod or watch.  Run anyway.  Become victimized from random honks.  Run.  Shower.  Observe kid's karate class.  Face palm.  Drive home from karate.  Converse en route.  Homework Battles:  he with third grade assignments; me with grading.  Greet husband upon his return.  Dine.  Read.  Worry.  Worry.  Worry.  Sleep.

Therefore, my weekdays tend to blur together.  Imagine the above paragraph sans spaces and punctuation.  That's my Monday morning through Friday afternoon.

There were a few highlights this week.  Most involved my kid.

Fantastic Car Conversations
One morning car conversation involved my son asking me how he could know if a girl liked him.  I enjoyed those ten minutes immensely.  It was a wonderful little moment that will not likely repeat.  You only get those kinds of questions for the first time once.  For the record, these were the answers that I gave him to that question.  He rejected each.

1. You can never know if a girl truly likes you. 
2. Fine.  Send a friend to one of her friends and to ask if she likes you.  

Arts and Crafts:  Boy Version

Picture says it all, I think.

Hunger Games Book Club

Eight daring teens joined the Hunger Games Book Club and we discussed Part I of The Hunger Games after school.  It was a joy to hear these kids discuss books--not for a grade, not because they had to--but because they wanted to.

I had a moment during my reading time one night.  I designed this T-Shirt on Customink.com.  The back says my last name above a large number 12.   Going to wear it to the next book club meeting if it arrives on time. 

  

Surprising Awards

Sometimes I wonder, usually during training runs, what my boy will grow up to be.  I was listening to the Nerdist podcast featuring the interview with Conan O'Brien, and I had an epiphany.  O'Brien, in talking about the creation of his humor style, mentioned the dinner table as his first sort of place to experiment in making his father and brother laugh.  I saw my son in that comment.  

I'm not claiming that my son will be the next Conan O'Brien, but he definitely is the type of kid who purposely attempts to get a laugh out of people.  

This means that he generally doesn't impress the teachers.  His humor isn't always appreciated come multiplication time.  

He's never been Student of the Month.  He likes to remind us of this fact after every Awards assembly.  Last month, he informed me that he has not earned Student of the Month 35 times.

Today was the Student of the Month assembly and my boy took home the award.  The school failed to tell us, so my husband and I couldn't attend the assembly.  I'm saddened by not being able to see his face once he heard his name called, but in the end, this is about him and not about me.  

Finally.  He is Student of the Month.  It is likely he'll never be again.  His humor is getting more purposeful and blatant.  I'm seeing more detention in his future. But today, he gets to feel like the school system is proud of him.  

Applebee's for dinner.  His choice.  The large bucket of sangria helped me get through.  

Mother-Son Drawing Time

The bargain books section of the local Barnes and Noble had a copy of Illustration School:  Let's Draw Cute Animals.  It sounded like a worthy plan.  I bought the book and the kid and I sat down to learn to draw cute animals.  

I like his platypus best. 

My version of a cute koala! Let's call her Sheila!

I have no grown-up presentations this weekend that require professional clothing.  That was the previous weekend and that will be next weekend.  This weekend I have a long run and a date with a nap.

Divine.

Friday Faves--The Weekend Arrived at a Snail's Pace Edition

It seemed like the longest week ever for no discernible reason.  The promise and perceived future ecstasy that comes from a three-day weekend slowed the week down.

Saturday meant another day hanging with The Writing Project.  I love those people.  One of my favorites distributed fortune cookies.  Mine delighted me to no end.  I giggled.

Sunday brought a PR.  I have to Instagram it!  I adore Instagram. 

On Valentine's Day my son brought home the best story.  I'll bullet it for posterity.

• My husband allowed him a small spray of cologne for Valentine's Day. 
• My son was jumping rope at school.
• The object of his affection ran in and began jumping rope with him face to face.  
• My son's male friend grabbed the jump rope and ran.  
• My son caught up with the rope thief and said, "Why did you have to ruin the moment?"
• In retelling the story to his father and I, my son said, "She must've been attracted to my scent."

Then the next day, this popped up on his door. 

My kid is the best.  

I've been relaxing on the couch at night watching television.  I've been waking early and getting to work 45 minutes early all week.  This means falling asleep early.  I feel old.  My precious Paul decided that he wanted all eyes on him.  Nathan Fillion looks shocked.