Turns Out I Have Some Kid Stories After All

I'm single mom-ing it this week with two of my long-time charges here in Greenville. Their parents have escaped to a tropical island for an extended vacation, and left me in charge to keep them clean and happy.  I've stayed with them before, but this is definitely the longest stretch. So far, everything is going well (donuts make excellent bribes) but we're only three days in. A pessimist would say that there's still plenty of time for things to go south.

I feel a cold coming on, but I can't find any adult medicine in this house, so I've been sucking down "Immune-Booster Gummies" and children's motrin by the fistful.  I also found a stash of m&ms in the freezer; every little bit helps.  The cold, though, is not as bad as the schoolwork they bring home. My conclusion is that homework is way, way worse for the parents than for the kids.

Speaking of things that are horrible, my mom sent me this picture today:

She said: "I snapped this photo of it NOT snowing this morning! I had to get it quick though."  My poor northern friends and relatives are suffering through the modern day equivalent of The Long Winter, Laura Ingalls Wilder-style.  Meanwhile, news outlets in SC are feverishly reporting on the possibility of up to an inch -an INCH! - of snow tomorrow night, breathlessly instructing us to check their website for hourly updates.  My favorite was the report on the city's "frantic attempts to prepare for a major storm moving into the area." I can only assume that means they opted for overnight shipping on those extra snow-plows they ordered off of Amazon this afternoon.

It's Not as Exciting as Life With Toddlers, That's For Sure

It's perhaps not a good sign when the sight of a card in your mailbox illicits more guilt than joy. I was joyful, for the record, to find a note from my beloved big brother waiting for me upon my arrival home today, but it was unfortunately overshadowed by the initial thought of "Crud, I owe him a letter. He beat me to it!"  Not good, on two accounts: 1. That I am so shamefully bad at keeping in touch, even with those I love most, and 2. that I haven't figured out a way so far in my adult life to learn when to let go of the guilt and instead expend my energy on a sincere attempt to be better.

I think the difficulty of keeping a blog going the past several years is my feeling like there's not really a place for it.  In the interest of keeping my job, which I happen to rather like, I generally feel like it's a good idea to keep my experiences there out of the blogosphere. But it's where the majority of my time and heart is spent, and where all my best stories come from (Ever made spaghetti for 250 kids on the fly? Or cut 700 pieces of partially-frozen Costco cake in an hour? You may be surprised to learn I work for a school, not a restaurant). 

So I'm left with the rest of my life to blog about, which often doesn't feel very exciting or newsworthy. I don't have the daily life lessons of marriage, the heartwarming tales that come with kids, a boundless supply of fashion advice, theological knowledge, mouthwatering food photos, all of which make up the blogs I frequent. I grant, though, that I do have adventures, in my own way. Today it was my brief stop at the grocery store on the way home from a Novocaine-laced dentist appointment, where I'm pretty sure I scared the cashier into thinking he was checking out a stroke victim.

I love reading blogs of my friends and family. I drink up the photos and stories of their children, most of whom live several states away from me. I pore over their thoughts- reflections on what God's teaching them through suffering, or takeaways from a recent book. I delight in the discovery that we're both raving about the same movie, or just uncovered the same new product we can't live without. I feel sometimes like I'm having a conversation with them, sitting somewhere cozy, despite the miles between us. It's pretty wonderful. So I must acknowledge that perhaps they would feel the same way to read that I'm currently loving this book, or to hear about my latest Goodwill find (Longaberger basket, $1.50).

God, in His infinite wisdom, chose to make me an introvert of the highest kind, and as such, I will likely spend my entire life fighting a losing battle with the phone calls I should be making and lunch dates I keep delaying. Again, I should point out, with people I really and truly love. (No, I don't understand it either. That's why it's God's infinite wisdom, and not mine). 

But guess what's a solitary activity? Writing.