Recycled topic: Living well 101

It's been almost three years of almost:

Almost back in shape.

Almost drawing again.

Almost Skyping all those people I've told I'll Skype.

Almost enjoying long hours building block towers that get knocked down over and over and over and over.

Almost writing.

Almost parenting.

Almost making it home for Christmas without the flu.

Almost maintaining friendships.

Almost sleeping through the night.

Almost hanging all the pictures in the eight months "new" apartment.

Almost figuring it out.

Almost buying a house.

Almost handling that last interaction with grace (before it went tragically south).

Almost learning Czech.

Almost making it through the whole year within my sick day allotment.

Almost attending the 47 dinners I've canceled.

Almost grading all those papers on time.

Almost using "swag" correctly in front of my seventh graders

Almost giving up coffee.

Almost tackling that skin rash.

Almost answering the phone.

Almost finding a new topic for the blog other than the cyclical, "How do I enjoy this cup of life that is handed to me?" one.

As I've alluded to 40 billion times, as someone that read wayyyyy too much Emerson in college, I know that I should take heart in the process of transcending my yucky self, but being on the verge is really unsatistfactory. I'm a lady hankering for a victory. An apex. Two and a half weeks post-sinus-surgery, I have a big ol' infection in my face. I'm thanking God it's not MRSA, but I'm also cartoon kicking the dirt and saying, "shucks!" If you knew how meticulous I have been with self-care, you would think my usual cavelier-about-doctors'-advice-self was taken over in the zombie apocalypse. I have been careful. 

And so I'm mildly defeated over dumb reasons.

I canceled another dinner date.

I came home from the doctor and was a poopy mom and didn't really enjoy setting up the lego train or (worst game of all) pretending there was a bee trying to get us so we hide under a blanket and scream (repeatedly). 

But, I did do something I haven't done in months. Maybe years. I handwrote a letter. I got out paper, and I scribbled a long note to a dear friend and in the slowness of those looping words, I reminded myself about (warning: repetitive blog topic alert!) seasons. We don't get to pick how long some seasons are, but we can wear them well and with kindness to self and others. We can quit fighting them and live them. We can shut up. This season is one of loose ends and loss of muscle tone and holding tight to what is near. Writing it out to her relaxed me enough to think past simply grinning and bearing it (at least for the afternoon), and I was able to react to my day with true delight. Gus was wild, and so he and I sang ourselves through a little Sesame Street therapy after dinner, which I did thoroughly enjoy. Prior to his shower I got out the "washable ink" (a manufacturer's joke) stamp pad, and we made marvelous fingerprint caterpillars and a few deranged handprint turkeys. And as we lay in bed thanking God for his snail collection, his friends, his dad who is admirably building houses in Cambodia with 14-year-olds, and anything covered in chocolate, I was understanding of our now. I wouldn't have chosen all of it. Almost-living isn't best for my personality. I'm disappointed I didn't get to have Nepalese food with a gaggle of interesting people tonight. But I am thankful--very thankful--I got to watch my interesting son shovel in quinoa and tell me the differences between male and female mosquitos.

Madeleine L'Engle wrote often of the necessity for "being time." The time where we walk alone, where we sit alone, where we write for ourselves, where we let our brains relax a bit so we can tackle the routines before us without animosity. I am so ridonkulously stupid that I forget it. And I waddle through days in my Almost-fog and forget to live. And to be fair, how is one supposed to feel excited about that dreadful bee game when a truly disgusting situation is going on in her newly remodeled nose? Being time PLUS giving ourselves a big fat break seems a fair balance for sanity and the ability to recognize the good in life.

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I took some being time last week while I mended to celebrate a birthday of a new friend. She doesn't resent my 5:00am texts canceling our jogs, understands why I didn't show up to the dance party, and she also eats frosting-laden cupcakes, so I like her very much:

I also bought these confectionery shaped erasers. They've totally amped up tea parties around here:

PS. It's question list time in my class! Man, is THIS a season that's easy for me to savor. My list wonders what adenoids do, what YOLO means (yes, I finally looked it up), the reasoning behind the mango shortage during Chinese New Year, why they all laugh at me when I say "swag", whether or not I can eat my lucky Mandarin oranges, how they pick a new Pope, what the US's involvement in WWI was, tenable methods for deterring a large asteroid from striking the Earth, what was the Marconi scandal, and does Chapstick really create a dependence on lip balm. Good times.