Crossroads

The nice thing about working in education is that there are a million chances for a fresh start. There's the beginning of the school year, each new semester, the start of summer- all opportunities to make a change, to reflect, and to neatly mark the passage of time. 

Another semester has come to a close, and here I am at the outset of summer, my seventh in South Carolina, which is almost impossible for me to believe. But it was exactly six years ago this week that I loaded down the first car I'd ever owned, mine for less than a week, and drove it 600 miles south to the place I now call home.

Here I am, making Lucio an official SC resident of the road

There's no need to recap the past half decade, but I do feel that I'm at a crossroads of sort.  I turned 28 last week, and my 10-year high school reunion will take place in a few weeks.  The latter is enough to give anyone pause for reflection.  And in so doing, 2014 has been and promises to be a big year.

In March, one of my brothers got married, and this fall the other will make (already has made) me an aunt- to twins no less. In just five days, I will pack up my office, move 20 yards down the hall, and start a job I have dreamed about and worked toward since I graduated college. And in December, after a span of nearly five years that at times I truly never believed would end, I will graduate with my Masters in counseling.  So yeah, a big year. 

I joked to my aunt that my brothers and I were achieving all these life milestones this year while my parents were just lazing around.  She said that our accomplishments were their milestones. I hope they feel that way.  I have cried on the phone enough times after failed job interviews, hard classes, and bouts of homesickness to know quite seriously that I wouldn't have a milestone to my name without them.

In less reflective news, the first half of the year has also been a lot of fun. This spring, I felt like I was gone more than I was home. Smarty-pants Kristen had the good fortune to predict the coldest winter of our young lives, and I had the good fortune to be convinced to spend five days mid-Feburary with her in Boca Grande, FL.  We ate, read, laid in the sand, ran, talked,floated in the pool, and slept. It was VACATION.

I spent St. Patrick's Day in Chicago, where I finally got to meet my college roommate's son, a sentence that when I say it out loud is still surreal. I also attended my first St. Patrick's Day Parade, experienced The Aviary, admired the green river, and wandered through my beloved Chicago, eating, shopping, and admiring the lions roars at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

My parents visited during my spring break, and we spent the week doing projects around town, and then headed to Savannah for Easter weekend, which we managed to enjoy, despite an abundance of rain.  If you find yourself in Savannah, go to Narobia's and get their biscuit with sausage gravy.  Seriously. You'll thank me.

After nine of fifteen weekends spent away (I keep track of these things. For alibi purposes), May was finally a month at home, until Memorial Day, when I headed to Atlanta to visit with college friends in from Michigan.  And amidst all that, I spent two (separate) weeks on overnight babysitting gigs, house-sat for a week, made three weekend trips to Charleston, threw a baby shower for an old Greenville friend, started and finished my last two classes for graduate school, taught 5th grade Religious Education, conquered my fear of trying new classes at the gym, cooked some memorable meals, and logged a bunch of hours baby-sitting.  It was a good semester.

And here, I can prove it:

I know one Irishman who got kissed on St. Patty's.

My mom and I (separately) spent weeks hunting garage sales and thrift stores for these beauties. They were perfect for a tea party-themed baby shower.

We loved walking around the endless parks and squares Savannah offers. More walking = more food.

My hip dad

This little nugget had the nerve to come down with a virus during our Memorial Day Weekend in Atlanta. And we had the nerve to expertly diagnose it as "allergies" for a solid 48 hours... whoops.

Post-Cooper River Bridge Run in Charleston. To be fair, I only partook of the brunch portion of the 'race morning'.

That smell? Coming through the computer screen? It's weed, and a lot of it (not ours).  St. Patty's Day Parade.

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.