I'm irritated today. Some days you just can't make a dent in my sunny disposition, but today, I'm a little prickly. It might be due to being told to shut up on a repeated basis. Actually, at the time, that irritated me a lot.

Shut up was something I taught my kids not to say.  And at our house, for the most part, anytime someone has admonished another and said, shut up, it's met with a gasp. I'm proud of that. Society has taken 'shut up' and made it a joke, an applicable come back to being teased, chastised, shocked and amazed. But last night, as a group of laughing friends surrounded the table, one of us found our merriment too loud. And so she shushed us, waved her hands, and most of the time just told us to shut up. In her defense, we were trying to play Trivia and were having a hard time hearing the announcer.

Maybe I'm irritated by the insane little idiosyncrasies of the office? By the perception of some to do as little as possible and complain, loudly, if asked to just do their share? Or carrying on personal conversations in an office environment that all can hear, I try to not listen, but I can still hear you advising your family regarding extremely personal issues. I've made the decision that my conversations take place outside of the office environs.

My son continues on his journey to underachieve. And it irritates me that I cannot make him care, cannot make him want to excel. Oh, he gets tastes of achievement and loves the feeling, he just loses focus and desire and determination.

I'm irritated by people that think that how, successful or not, a college sports team performs, shapes and defines them-makes them better or embarrasses them . I'm proud of my alma mater and announce with pride where I received my degree. And while I was there, our football team was awful and basketball was king, quite the reverse of today. But it doesn't mean that I personally am better, worse or even just so-so.

I'm irritated by menopause and the lengths I have to go through, just to maintain my weight and healthy objectives. It must be time for me to go exercise and get my endorphines going to achieve that sunny disposition I'm famous for.

Breathing

I usually get my inspiration and ideas of things to write about when I ride my bike to work. Since it's unusually warm today, I opted for the bike instead of the campus bus. I'm such a lame biker. I've heard about people that ride up the hills just to get a better workout. I don't understand those people. I choose the relatively flat route to get to and from work and that means I pedal almost the whole time, and I'm breathing hard in very short order.

I have asthma, but I don't like to tell people that. It's how I was brought up; no telling people about your life-threatening condition because people might treat you differently or feel sorry for you. I still take my inhalers in another room so people won't hear me.  I believe my lungs are permanently damaged from being so ill during my formative years. I remember sitting there as a young child, watching TV and was amazed to see people run and not become disabled, or as my mother has commented, turn a scary shade of blue. I've seen my own daughter struggle to breathe and watched her lips turn blue and I understand that helpless feeling I know my mother felt.

After arriving to work, parking my bike and heading to the office,  I was passed by several runners that were running up the steps of campus. I could hear their labored breathing as they ran by. It's pretty humid today, so the sweat was really streaming off of them as they did their thing. I removed my bike helmet and was fluffing out my hair to rid myself of helmet head when I heard laughter. Curious as to the source, I looked about and found a trio of students sitting on one of the concrete benches that are strategically placed around campus. They were watching the runners, and puffing away on cigarettes, gesturing towards them and snickering. I frowned, trying to get a handle on this scenario. It also created in me a desire to look up a few little facts about smoking and probably the most staggering number was 45.3 million American adults smoke cigarettes. The next fact listed was that in 2011, states will collect $25.3 billion from tobacco taxes and legal settlements, but states are spending only 2% of the $25.3 billion on tobacco control programs. Money. I knew it, it's always about money. But I digress. This isn't about statistics or money, it's about seeing collegians puff away, choosing to damage their lungs knowing what those things will do to them and having the nerve to laugh at those who choose a healthier lifestyle by exercising.  When someone says to me, well we always have done things a certain way, I gently reply, yes-but now we know better. My Granddad ate bacon everyday, and lived a long time, but now we know better. Cars used to be made without seat belts, but today we know better.  They used to give cigarettes to soldiers to help boost morale, now they know better. My lungs were damaged by a disease and lack of medications that are available today, but it wasn't my choice. Educated young adults should think about what they are doing, whether it's choosing to live a healthy lifestyle or shorten their lives.

Connections

Connections. So much of our life is governed by the connections we have with other people, the new connections we make, the old, it's all about connections.

I'm connected to people in a variety of ways. From connecting on Facebook with school mates, sorority sisters, friends and family, to carrying around a cell phone for texts, picture mail and, <gasp> actual phone calls.

I'm always amazed when someone says, "I don't do Facebook" and I usually ask why. Various reasons are put forth, however for the most part, what I hear is fear of exposure. Too much putting ourselves out there on the web. So, I thought to myself, what does the web have to say about me? There are 79800 different pages listed when I google my name. Some are repeated several times, (why is that?) some have absolutely nothing to do with me and my favorite? My LinkedIn personal description was written in French! What I do for a living sounds absolutely devine in a foreign language! I'm thinking about making a copy and taking it with me for my next review. However, most interesting is that any reference made to a Facebook page didn't make the list, unless it was past the first 5 pages, because honestly I got a little bored and didn't check on the pages after that.

My favorite connections are the friends I've made throughout life. Some friends stay around and some come and go. Friendships based upon kid activities are high on the list of coming and going. I've made friends through preschool, moms day out, grade school, football, basketball, swimming, dance, gymnastics, PEO, alumnae groups and the list goes on. Recently, I reconnected with one of my friends, and we picked up right where we left off. Our kids don't do the same things anymore, but our friendship is strong enough to reach past that and connect on a different level.

I have connections with influential people and people who don't know anybody. Connections with people who want to talk about jobs, world peace and yummy recipes. Sometimes, I have no connections with someone and it's really awkward. I hate those times, since according to my sister, I can talk about nothing for hours. I have connections with former coworkers, and then, there are former places of employment that I have no connection to at all.

Recently, I was connected to a second computer monitor. I love having two monitors, especially since it makes me look doubly important and busy, and really well connected. And I can keep my Facebook page open and an eye on posts while I maintain connections in the academic world.

Thoughts and notes of the week

Thoughts and notes while walking and biking;

-That dayglo orange lace dress? Never a good idea. Even though you are quite pretty, who told you it looked good on you? A friend? Never shop with that friend again.
-Suicide is selfish. There I said it. I might open myself up to criticism regarding a judgement of lack of respect for the family of those who chose to end their life.  I have experienced a myriad of emotions regarding the news that one of my former co-workers chose to end her life in a most horrible manner. At the end of the day, I wondered what could have been so awful that would make her think it was the only way out? Well-we will never know. No note, no phone call. Nothing.
-Sometimes, people make the most horrible noises while in the workplace. Today, I would swear I just heard someone snoring, big loud bear-like snores! From snorts, sniffles, burps and coughs, it's a wonder I get anything done at all. Since when did disgusting personal habits become acceptable in the workplace?
-Telling people that you love life makes them smile. AND they want to know why you love life. It's like you have a secret potion that everybody wants a sip of.  It makes me think about breaking into song from the Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" musical version, I like life, life likes me.
-Athletic venue tickets are outrageously priced. I just received a tweet about tickets available for the KU/KSU game, on the grassy lawn-SRO, for $75ea. I think I will watch it on TV, drink my own drinks and eat my own eats. Maybe I'll have a few people over to watch it with me.
-I think helping prepare a meal, especially in a community environment, is a wonderful way to share life. I got to help with food prep for our upcoming church Oktoberfest last night. I've got a blister on my finger and a quote in the paper to show for my efforts! Not bad, not bad at all.
-Family Weekend at the university my daughter attends is this coming weekend and we are going to seeher! I'm so excited just thinking about it! Even my husband shared his own feelings of anticipation as we go through this year of 'firsts'.
-What's next after the 50 Shades of Grey reading frenzy? Why-Passion Parties of course. Where you can shop for things in the privacy of your home with a tasteful presentation and giggles galore as we imagine our own adventures.

My girl is homesick. Plain and simple. I feel like if she can make it through the next two weeks, she will be fine. So many new things-new friends, living arrangements, classes, etc. She is missing her friends and the easiness of those friendships. She misses being in her own room, driving her car.

 

Makes me wonder-what is different? She was gone for 3 weeks in another country and came back kicking and screaming (figuratively-of course). Is it the permanence? Or the perception of permanence? She wants to come home next weekend, however she has a commitment on Saturday, so it just really doesn’t work. I feel like it’s silly for us to go up on Sunday for a visit when we will be there the following Saturday for Family weekend. But silly or not, my mom-sense is screaming to go to her. This a learning experience for all of us.

 

Sundays are the hardest day, when I miss her the most. My is husband gone, helping care for his parents and my son is working or doing whatever 16 yr old boys do when they are out and about.  I try to keep busy with the usual mundane things like laundry and housekeeping, reading or watching TV. Oh, we keep in contact via Facebook and text messages and cell phones, so it isn't like I don't have contact with her, but I miss her presence in the house. Maybe she needs to come home to find out she likes living away.

 

I'm trying to remember how I felt my first month away from home. I saw my parents quite a bit due to them having season football tickets, and I roomed with my best friend, so I don't remember being homesick. I was having the time of my life! I know she is too-but during the inbetween times, she longs for something familiar. Looks like I should clean out the junk that has been collecting in her room before she surprises us with a quick trip home!

Bike Riding and Bad Hair Days

I had a great hair day today, right up to the time I put a bike helmet on my head and rode to work. Yep-I ride my bike, weather permitting, to work everyday. And I wear a helmet-it's usually one of the first questions people ask, and I use a messenger bag to cart my daily goodies with me.

I don't live very far from my place of employment, and I started with riding the campus bus. When the bus reduced their service this past summer, I started thinking about different ways to get to work. Walking is an option, but when the heat is above 95 degrees, which seemed to be the case most of the summer, the walk home is beastly. So I pulled my bike out of the basement, aired up the tires, dusted off my helmet, being sure to get all the spider webs out of there, and hopped on.

I'm not the most efficient biker. I am confounded by all the different speed combos, and my bike seems to be rough when it shifts from gear to gear. Mostly, I try to keep it on the same numbers, give or take a gear shift or two. I get kind of wobbly when I'm checking to see who is behind me, so I added a review mirror to one of my handles. It works pretty well, unless the road I'm on is really bumpy, which makes the reflection kind of blurry. It also needs to be constantly adjusted so that I can actually see behind me. I didn't realize how slow I pedaled until the college kids came back and started passing me on the street! My other challenge seems to be turning corners. When I was younger, I had this move down, in addition to riding without my hands on the handlebars, but in my older years, my balance sometimes fails me. On a ride home a couple of weeks ago, I didn't navigate the turn onto a side street and rode right into the curb! I flew over the handle bars and onto the dry hard ground. As I lay there, splayed flat, doing a quick mental checklist to determine if anything was broken, I wondered if, heaven forbid, anybody saw me. I sat up, sure enough there was a car driving up to ask if I was OK. All I could to was nod as the tears were welling up and threatening to spill. It would seem that the biggest injury was to my hand, some road rash on my arm and knocking off the visor portion of my helmet. I debated on calling in  the cavalry to come help me home, but I decided I was fit to ride. Did I mention that I was also a pretty tough cookie?

It would seem that I've joined some secret society of bike riders here on campus. When people spot my helmet, it's met with comments of admiration, confessions of their own treks to campus and a divulging of their personal opinions regarding saving the planet with no pollution emissions, blah blah blah. Mostly, I ride because it's good for my health as well as the pocketbook. But the hair, well-for now I'm proudly showing off my 'helmet hair' to my fellow brethren.

Reading and Writing

I've been reading the 50 Shades of Grey book series. I wouldn't call them the best written books I've ever read but what I've noticed is the variety of reactions when I confess that I've been reading them. My inner goddess highly approves of my choice of fiction, and I giggle when I recall various scenes, many that made me uncomfortable. I think when a book causes so many people to talk about reading, what emotions and reactions a book caused, it's a good thing. (sorry-sounds a little Martha Stewart-ish)  It reminds me of the conversation I had with the Dean of Student Affairs at my favorite university. They had decided to give each incoming freshman and transfer student a copy of a novel, it happened to be The Hunger Games that year,  to encourage reading and discussion groups. I was skeptical about the outcome, after all-who reads books for fun in college? I never had the time or inclination. However, it was and continues to be an overwhelming success, so much so that the rival university in the same state is following the lead and introduced their own reading program this fall.

When my daughter was in junior high, her 8th grade English teacher discussed with the parents at Back to School night, her passion for encouraging students to write. With the computers and digital age advancing at lightening speed, she talked about her concern that students don't write anymore and 'text talk' was ruining students spelling skills.  Both of my children had the good fortune to have her as their teacher and both kids learned a lot about descriptive writing, poetry and becoming more creative in their thought processes as they wrote down those words.

My mother used to write letters to my grandparents each week. Their return letters were looked for in great anticipation by my parents, anxious to hear about other members of our family, how the land looks (depending on the season)  who is doing what to whom. As I grew older, I wanted to read them too and I grew up reading about people I didn't know and family I rarely saw. I love to read. I love to lose myself in a good story, passing the afternoon in my recliner, beverage of choice at my side. Vacations mean finding a good book. Getting my hair cut and colored means flipping through a magazine while waiting, and when I hear something interesting being mentioned and I have no idea what they are talking about, I perk up and think, 'sounds like a search!' and I'm off to the computer, to read and learn. I am passionate about learning new things and like being able to socialize with people on a variety of topics. I'm not sure anybody at the next office party wants to hear me wax eloquently about 50 Shades of Grey given the subject matter, but being well read does increase your vocabulary and makes you express yourself in a more descriptive manner.

Earlier this week, someone said they had read my blogs. I can't tell you how much that pleased me to hear. Another confided that I had moved her to tears with my own confessions of the heart. Wow-considering my limited literary experience, it meant the world to me that anyone would read my words and that they would evoke an emotion.  Some days I sit here and think-I have nothing to say today that anybody would want to read. Other times, I'm wrestling with a number of topics but can't come up with anything substantial to say about them. Certainly nothing that is 'title worthy'. Thank you, friends, for your faithfulness and kind words.

Rollercoaster

I made a Facebook post earlier this week about how sometimes parenting hurts. At the time, I really couldn't elaborate because to address my feelings reopened the floodgates and I really needed to get through the day. I received an overwhelming response with friends stopping by with hugs, messages and phone calls. I'm lucky. I have wonderful friends.

Yesterday we took our daughter to college. I wasn't sure how I would react to the day, or what her actions would be. I have been having separation pangs for several weeks now, so I was taking lots of deep breaths, and had teary eyes which meant I had to look at the ceiling to keep my tears from falling. Oh I know she will be fine, more than fine, and I can't wait to watch her find her place in this new world she is experiencing. One the hardest things about yesterday was watching the mileage markers count down to the town as we drove. It seemed like it was a fast trip, however my daughter said she thought it took forever. Unloading was easy, the stairs to the 6th floor never got any shorter and we stayed until she said she was ready for us to go. I gave her a good hug, got all misty-eyed, because that's what I do, and then we let her know we were a phone call away and walked out the door.

This week my son made the decision to leave the football team. It's what we've done for 9 years, watched our boy play the sport he loves so much. And part of that is being a football booster and sharing the experiences with friends and family, cheering and volunteering. I'm really going to miss being a part of that group. I was so proud to be the mom of #53. I've watched him grow and become a better player. I remembered when he made the unbelievable tackle during the Toy Bowl that earned him a call of his name over the loud speaker. I recalled watching him get angry and take it out on opponents-bigger than him but not better. He used to talk about wanting to play football for as long as he could. This week, he decided that he just didn't love it anymore. Oh, he still loves the sport, just doesn't love playing it anymore. I've cried a bucket of tears over this, and he offered to continue to play-for me-because he knew how much I cared. But I had to respect his decision, because at the end of the day, it wasn't about me, it was about him.

So yeah, parenting hurts. But there are joys and celebrations too. It's a real roller coaster and I think about the scene in the movie ParentHood where they looked at each other and said, 'I wouldn't want it any other way'.

Driving in NYC

I played Trivia with my girlfriends last night at one of the restaurants in town that host those games. We are a varied lot of women from all walks of life, so we might know the answer to a wide range of subjects.  I got to contribute to one of the questions with one of my 'little known facts about Deanne's life' episodes and when they asked how sure I was about the answer, my response was "all the points sure".

My first job out of college was working for a consumer products company, travelling the state of Kansas, calling on pharmacies, card and gift shops and chain drug stores.   I was on the fast track and was promoted 4 times in 5.5 years, with my last position being the Director of Retail Stores. The stores were located in shopping malls, downtowns and stand alone locations and many were nearing the end of their leases. This was the late 80's and the shopping mall was king. Rents were skyrocketing and our little stores were becoming less and less profitable. As we made the decisions to close locations as opposed to renewing leases, I had the responsibility to help close the stores with going out of business sales and selling the store fixtures.

Last night, as I heard the trivia question, I recalled a trip to New York City to close one of those stores, and the episode of getting my car towed in downtown Manhattan, roughly 5th Avenue and 42nd St, around the corner from Radio City Music Hall. I was terrified. I'm a Kansas girl and I was heading to the Big Apple, where I've been told scary things happen and traffic is ridiculous. Imagine my delight in finding a parking space on the street close to the store! I looked around, trying to find any signage that might indicate a problem with where I was parking, but only spied a No Standing sign. Whew, I thought-good thing I'm not going to stand here and went on my way. No Standing means just that, but it also means No Parking in NYC. My rental car was gone along with all of the other cars on that block and I had no idea where it was or how to get it back. So I embarked on an adventure, hailing a traffic cop for directions, travelling via taxi to the car lot, and standing in line-an extremely long line, watching humanity at its less than finest. I was called a bitch, which escalated to f*ing bitch all because a person didn't feel like going to the back of the line and I wasn't inclined to let her cut in front of me. The smirk on my face and the rooted to the ground stance I took probably didn't help either.

I grew up a little that day, learned to be self sufficient and responsible. I learned to laugh at my naivete and toughened up mentally. I found that most people, no matter where they live, are decent and want to help and that we all get irritated by the messiness of life. Oh, and by the way, the trivia question? Which borough of New York is Battery Park located? Answer-Manhattan-that car tow lot is located across from there.

momof2teens

It's a cool morning, temperature-wise. I have the doors open, hot coffee in hand and I'm reading the Sunday paper. I took a moment to think about the right word that would fit the space on the crossword and started daydreaming. At least, when I was in grade school that was what the teachers called it. I think they have other words for it today. 

In my first blog, I mentioned identities and how I'm struggling with which group do I identify with right now. This morning, I'm thinking about my identity as a momof2teens. I just went and adjusted their blankets and made sure they were covered up. As I put my hand on their heads, I watched my children shift in their slumber and snuggle into their pillows and take that big intake of breath as they moved and settled. These are my babies and they are growing up. 

My daughter will head to college in a few days and I'm so stinking excited for her to experience the next chapter of her life. She gets to forge her own path, with an academic plan of her own, meet new people from so many different places and enjoy, what was for me, some of the best years of her life.  She is so ready to go, but I will miss the talks, laughter and messes that she makes all over the house. I have an ache in my heart and I blink back tears just writing about it, but I wouldn't hold her back for anything.

My son will be a junior in high school. He is my affectionate one. The one with the big bear hugs and easy laugh. I'm lucky because he talks to me, oh not when anyone else can hear, but he talks to me about important things, feelings, peer pressure, that kind of stuff. John plays high school football. It's what he loves. And when I see him get on the field and take up the position he loves to play, my heart swells for him, knowing he is in his element. And when I see him stand on the sideline, waiting for his name to be called, I ache for him. I never thought being a football mom would have so many ups and downs on Game Day. 

It's a Sunday morning, and my babies are sleeping in their beds. I want to package their smells, their sweet faces, their love of life and keep that package close to me, hugging it tight.  

A New Beginning

Hello!

I've thought about doing something like this for a long time. I am always putting stories together in my head and thinking I should write them down and when I share my stories, my friends ask me if I'm writing a book. I'm not an educated writer, meaning I've never taken a writing class. I love to read, but the idea of writing a book is overwhelming. I find the ironies of life amusing, sometimes sad, sometimes outrageous and I like to share those things.

I have to say, my first struggle was trying to figure out what to call this blog. Gah! My first writers block! I sat here looking at a blank screen and blinking cursor and thinking, who am I? What am I? How do I identify myself? What do I want to say in a title? Some people are so creative, they have a strong attachment to something they do, a hobby, kids.....something. I'm in transition, I think. My email address says shopgirl825. That was back when I was a store owner, with an address of 825 Massachusetts, so I joined the two together. But I'm not a shopgirl anymore. I'm a mom of 2 teenagers, but I'm so much more than a momof2teens. I have a new job in the Chemistry Department, but lets' face it, I'm not an academic nor do I identify myself as a chemgem. I thought of the names of newspapers I'm familiar with. The Star, Journal, Sentinel, Intelligencer, Times, Daily. Daily! Aha-the Daily Deanne! No-too much pressure, what if I don't write daily? So, as I begin to think about what this blog is all about, it's journaling, it's a public diary, and the Thesaurus recommended Daybook as an alternative. I liked it. Not too pretentious, no underlying expectations, just a place where I can enter my thoughts, any old day.