Extremes

The Bad

I need to get some things off my chest:

Why doesn't the snow melt?

I am so sick of being cold all the time.

My skin is flaking like a snake's because of the heat overload.

I need about ten of those lamps that imitate sunlight, and then I need to strap them to myself and chant a sunny mantra.

I can't handle winter clothes anymore. They itch. They constrict. The only good thing about them is the fact that they hide my pasty, plump flesh. And that isn't good, either, because then I stuff my face and get more plump, all of which will be revealed on the first warm day.

Everything takes so stinkin' long in winter: getting dressed, finding and donning proper footgear, getting the car prepped, driving somewhere in slush/snow/ice, walking from the car to the destination without slipping and becoming a winter-broken-bone statistic.

I hate socks. Detest them. Yet need them.

I feel like a caged animal in this house. And even when I'm out? I'm running to another cage, from my temporary cage (car).

Can't. Take. Much. More.


The Good

The sun is shining, and has been shining for several hours. And the bathroom is finally clean.


The Beautiful

My little boy will be home from kindergarten soon.

If you had told me 15 or 20 years ago that I'd be a mom, I would have laughed in your face. I spent the first half of my life or more telling everyone I'd never had kids. I meant it. I had no interest, no burning yearning to be a mom, no thoughts of holding a small bundle of my own.

If you'd told me that at this point, I'd consider motherhood* to be the best experience I've had yet, I would have snickered and pressed my lips together in utter doubt. How ridiculous.

But it's true. I am delighted by my son. He is such a neat little person. I still can't believe what a gift he is. He's witty, and silly, and loves to play. He likes to learn new things, too, and we can sit and talk about things now and he gets it. It's awesome. But best of all? So far, he's turning out to be a kind, thoughtful kid.

I know it might not always look like this. I know people whose kids turned into strangers in teen years, or who suddenly grew up into completely miserable human beings. There's the occasional sad story of good kids turned bad who end up in jail, or worse.

But I have today. I have this moment. I have this child whom I adore, who enriches me daily, who has shown me how vulnerable I really am and how it's possible to love someone so much it pains you.


* Motherhood only—not pregnancy (stunk), not labor (stunk more). Just motherhood.

not mine, but worth sharing

OK, people—I dare you to watch this without smiling. I dare you:


And if that doesn't get you, and you love dogs—heck, even if you just love dogs—then go here.


No, I don't know these people. It doesn't matter. This is when I forgive the Internet for all its idiocy, pettiness, mindlessness, and perversion. When I stumble upon these sorts of things, and remember that it is, after all, a powerful tool of genius.

Pleasant rediscoveries

I've recently rediscovered a few things that delight me. I love when that happens.

Painting. A couple of months, maybe more, had passed since I'd attempted to paint anything. There wasn't time, there wasn't inspiration, the blizzard's natural lighting was poor, and then so much time went by that I began to psych myself out of actually doing it. I'd find a momentary opportunity and I'd start to get ready, but then laundry would beckon, or I'd realize I had nothing for dinner, or I'd look at the clock and notice I really only had about 40 minutes and that's not nearly enough time to gather supplies and prepare the easel and—you get the idea. Maybe you do this, too, especially with pastimes you love that can be intimidating after long absences. But then, I did it: I forced myself to grab the measly window of time, to get out the paints, to dive in. And now, the gourd family portrait is finally complete. Aaaahhhhh. Painting.

Shortening. The thick, stiff, white stuff that looks like lard. The totally unnatural substance that was every housewife's necessity, every baker's dream until the words saturated fat and trans fat and olive oil and margarine began to cloud people's perception of the stuff. I had sworn off shortening years ago, embracing butter for all baking needs and making no excuses for the heart-clogging properties it brought with it. I was not about to let shortening into my home, because it didn't go bad, ever! And then I read online that it doesn't even attract bugs or flies! And I couldn't begin to explain the process of partial or complete hydrogenization, so anything created by that process could not live in my kitchen. And yet, years later, it was still on the shelves, and had not yet killed anyone. I relented recently, because a cookie recipe I wanted to try called for the nasty, white, flavorless stuff. I bought some. I baked the cookies. Whoa. The cookies were fluffy. They were soft and chewy yet crisp on the outside. They were divine. It had to be the shortening. Now the can of it that I bought is half-empty. Why did I stay away so long? All those good old-fashioned bakeries can't be wrong. Just wait until I use it to make icing...!

Hoods on coats. They rock. Now that I'm old, I don't care quite as much as I used to about whether my appearance is pleasing to others. Now, in winter, I just slap the giant, oversized hood of my coat atop my head, and step out into the dizziest blizzard with no fears of sticky hairspray head. Feeding the birds in a storm? Not a problem with my huge hood head. Rushing into the office through yet another snow shower, sporting just-styled hair? No worries, mate—just don the hood and tread onward. Best of all, I can't lose the darned thing like I do umbrellas, because the wonderful hood is attached to the coat or jacket it adorns (sort of my like my proverbial head which, thankfully, is attached and therefore cannot be left somewhere inappropriate or misplaced in a hurried shuffle). And hoods look so perfect with tall boots, which are also fabulous... but I've already waxed poetic about one item of winter gear, and that's enough.

Good friends and neighbors. I forget their utmost importance until times of need arise. My folks have had a rough couple of weeks; their offspring and various family members rally around them and do their best, which is great—but some good pals and caring neighbors of theirs recently stepped up to the plate and hit a home run or two or five. Convenient rides, big snow plows, and just plain helpful hands have all been proffered and very much appreciated. It's one of the positive things about hardships: the stress reveals not just cracks, but also partners and supporters. I need to appreciate those people more, and also work on being one of them whenever I can.

Have you had any great rediscoveries lately?