Another year of school began for Julia and Lucy on Tuesday. It made headlines!
Well, at our house, at least – in our very own newspaper.
Julia is in sixth grade this year. Lucy is in second grade and she lost her first tooth today.
It had been wiggling for a while, but a fall on the playground at recess may have expedited its removal. (Notice the fat lip and bloody gums?) That was okay by her, though. She had waited long enough to lose that tooth!
We had a lovely summer and I keep saying banal things about it being over too soon, but it was. Boys of Summer by Don Henley came on the radio as I pulled away from the middle school this morning and I’m getting up every day at 5 a.m. That’s about as far as you can get from camping on the beach which I did in July, but still haven’t even told you about!
Geez. I need to get my shit together.
I’m at my best when I get 7 to 7 1/2 hours of sleep. I’m annoyed by how much it screws me up when I get much more or less than that, lately. If I could live according to my own circadian rhythm, I’d go to bed around 2 a.m. and sleep until 9 a.m. That doesn’t happen much. I don’t really mind, though. I don’t like getting up early, but I like being up early. (That makes sense, right?) And I prefer to be up and at ’em before the kids. The whole family agrees that life is better this way.
The kids need around 10 hours of sleep. This year, Julia is using her own alarm clock to get up. It goes under her pillow and vibrates in addition to making a sound, so she can get up without waking her siblings which she loves. She loves it so much she’s been cutting sleep short for a slice of alone time. Now, Lucy is requesting her own alarm clock so she can get up before Julia. I know getting the sleep they need is important, but I’m just rolling with this. It’s easy to be the early riser when wake up time is 8 a.m. I think it’ll all shake out by the time we’re getting up at 6 a.m.
I had an exceptionally bad day (or two) where I simply could not stand myself. I felt too disgusting and repulsive to show my face in public and I felt anxious when I had to. I clung on the verge of tears and tortured myself with evidence that I am good at and for nothing.
Dave watched me empty my drawers and cry because nothing I put on made me look like anything other than me. He tried to hug me. He said he loved me. I told him I couldn’t understand why. It probably wasn’t his best day (or two) either.
When he left for work, I was certain he felt glad to go and get away from me. Who wouldn’t? But he came home and surprised me by taking the next day off to be with me. I didn’t even want to be with me! And he sent me roses.
I wish I could say that flipped my happy switch back on, but I was still a bit moody. Also loved. Very, very loved.
We discovered some blackberry bushes on our property!
We picked our first batch a few weeks ago with a plan to make pie, but most of the berries never made it to the kitchen.
One of my favorite childhood memories is of picking blackberries with my mom. We enjoyed most of them right away, but she always stashed a quart or so in the back of the freezer. I’d forget about them. She’d wait for a cold winter day to pull them out and we’d eat them with milk and sugar.
We’ve got ripe berries ready to pick again today. Maybe this time we’ll get enough for pie and the freezer.