How can I start a new project when I currently have 47 projects going on?

Earlier this week, I received a Kindle (for those of you who don’t know, a Kindle is a small electronic device that can hold thousands of books and magazines in it [or is it on it] and you really should get out more often) and I promptly paid to download five books and then downloaded 15 additional free books.
In my pre-Kindle days, I had a book by the bed, a book by my chair in the den, a book on my desk at work, and a book in my bag that I gave a ride from work to home and back again each day.  I can read all these books and not get them confused.  This is not to impress you but just a feeble attempt to explain how my sick little twisted mind works.
Now I have currently have 20 books at my fingertips and I am like a crack addict working up a good fix.  So far, I’ve read a chapter of Sherlock Holmes, two pages of Anna Karenina, a passage or two of Frankenstein, four chapters of Born to Run, six recipes in Not Your Mother’s Slow Cooker Recipes, almost the first chapter of The Happiness Project, and the first two chapters of Unclutter Your Life in One Week.  My hand shakes as I convince myself not to open up another book.
Last night, I woke up during the night wondering where the heck I last stored the slow cooker, pondering how I could go about arranging my own happiness project, worrying if I purged enough from my closet yesterday after being inspired to rid my life of clutter, contemplating taking a run without shoes (not really) and thinking about ways I can convince my husband that we must have a pet praying mantis (that last one is random and actually wasn’t an idea presented in any of the books).
Today, I’ve pledged to only read from one book on the Kindle and I’m struggling with which one.  My head feels like it could explode.  I don’t understand why this many choices gets to me because I have far more options on my book shelf.  Is it because I am inherently lazy and once there is a book in my hand, I am not so inspired to get up and look for another?  Is there something hypnotic about turning the pages of an actual book?
It is possible I’ll need an intervention…

Has it really been that long?

My last post was over a month ago. Apparently, I'm an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to blogging here. I've still been taking posting a picture a day over on the other blog (http://mundaneandmagical.blogspot.com/) but I've all but turned my back on this blog.

Is it over between us? And by us, I mean this blog and me.

I still have a lot of ideas that swirl in my head keeping me awake at night.

I think I just needed to simplify my life. The month of May was an emotional one: both boys turned a year older (and is it really possible for me to be the mother of a 20 year old and an 18 year old?); we had tile taken up and tile put down in our den and kitchen; my oldest son moved out; my youngest son graduated from high school; it was another typical can't catch your breath end of the school year; some jobs were lost...

Still, I miss this place. I miss my friends.

Now would be a good time for me to learn some moderation. When it comes to blogging, that is.

Let’s just play in the dirt again

As I peeked into the quiet room, I gazed upon the sleeping boy. The slight snore from the persistent allergies signaled that deep sleep – the kind of sleep where dreams of animals talking and people visiting from other worlds comes.
How I wanted to curl him up into my arms and snuggle one more time in the rocking chair, tucking my nose into that place on his neck where the sweet smell of boyhood lingers.
Except that boy is now a man.
“Turning twenty kind of sucks,” he told me earlier this week. “It sounds old and yet you are still too young to legally drink away your sorrows.”
I didn’t focus on his use of that word “legally.” He is, after all, an independent college student who is “legally” of age to die for his county.
How can it be that twenty years has passed since his grand entrance into the world? It seems like just the other day he was clamoring for a bottle, climbing onto furniture, begging to play outside, sneaking into the bed in the middle of the night.
The hardest part about becoming a mother is being needed so much.
Ironically, the hardest part about watching your child turn into an adult is not being needed.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Happy! The past twenty years have been the best twenty years of my life.

Conflictions

Excitement.  Amazement.  Overwhelmed.  Anxiety.
These are just a few of the emotions I’ve entertained this past week since we found out my son got accepted into an Ivy League school. 
When he first mentioned his desire to apply, I encouraged him.  What was I thinking?!  We don’t live any where near these schools!  While I knew he was bright and motivated, I knew it would be hard for him to get in.  In fact, I really didn’t think it would happen.  Prior to this week, we were working to decide between a couple of schools in Georgia where we live, for crying out loud. 
Of the five Ivy Leagues he applied to, he was wait listed for two, turned down for two, and accepted to one.
Now that one school has become the one.
Suddenly, I’m having to pull my head out of the sand making flight and hotel arrangements to some city I’ve never visited.  Heck, I haven’t even been to that state.
Now that the reality is settling in, I’ve been grappling with nearness of my impending empty nest.  Tears fighting for a chance to surface and a heaviness in my chest are ever present.
I’m not looking for pity.  Being accepted to an Ivy League school is the kind of stuff dreams are made of.  I’m proud of my son and I’m proud of myself for encouraging him to do his best.  Being a single mother wasn’t easy and I worried that I didn’t or couldn’t do enough.  Looking back, I think his independence thrived as a result.  So, hover mothers, write that lesson down for the books.
So, how did this happen so fast?  Is he going to be okay so far away from me?
As I gazed up to the sky, I noticed a young hawk coasting on the breeze.  Not far behind him was a larger hawk, presumably his mother. 
Like that hawk, I know the truth.  He is ready to fly.

Reason 134 Why I Love My Secretaries

Not only do these ladies protect me from intimidating parents make me look good, they have an awesome sense of humor.
Phone Message to Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher: “Please call Mr. Lyon.  Your name has been drawn for a prize. 555-555-5555.”
Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher: “Is this Jim who called me?  I know Jim Lyon but I don’t recognize this number.”
Secretary #1: “It might be.  Give him a call.  We want to hear what you won!”
Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher picks up the phone and dials.
Person on the other end of the phone: “Atlanta Zoo.”
Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher with a confused look on her face: “May I speak with Mr. Lyon?”
Person on the other end of the phone (who is probably not amused): [Insert Uncomfortable Pause] “Ma’am.  It is April Fool’s Day.  I think somebody is playing a joke on you.”
The entire office erupted into laughter.
And it appeared that the 5th grade teacher was slightly less overwhelmed when she walked back to her classroom.

When one door closes…

On one hand, I love spring.  After winter’s harsh weather, the warm breezes and the blooming trees and shrubs breathe new life into me.
On the other hand, spring is the season where I wait to hear from the Superintendent’s office as to how many teaching positions my school earns and how many teachers will be moved.  This year is especially tense as the Superintendent has announced that due to budget restraints, positions will be cut. 
Moving teachers to different schools suddenly looks like the good old days.
I’ve never seen education have to face the cuts it is currently facing.  And the governor hasn’t quit cutting.  Nor does he seem to have his priorities in order.
The other day, I had to tell a sweet but ineffective teacher that she wouldn’t have a job next year.  I came home and cried.  While there isn’t room in the classroom for ineffectiveness, it breaks my heart to be the one to shut a door.
But when one door closes, another one opens, right?
I’ve got to believe that everything is going to be okay.  I’ve got to hang on to that thought that one bad event can open a door to a new and better opportunity.
I’ve got to believe that every thing does happen for a reason. 

If I were king of the world, I’d make Tuesday happen a couple of times a week

It is Tuesday, right? The day in the blog world known for randomness, eh?
All is well in our world. Thanks for all the comments and emails. We are slowly getting back to normal. Well, normal as defined by us.

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I got a speeding ticket from the nicest cop this morning. At 4:45 a.m. I was on my way back from the gym when he clocked me going 68 in a 45 mph zone (it was a 4 lane highway with absolutely no traffic… relax). I’m sure I was looking lovely with my sweaty self. I begged asked for a warning but he pointed out his supervisor in the other cop car. At least he knocked the speed down a bit so I wouldn’t get hit with the hefty fines associated with the super speeder law in Georgia. On average, I get one speeding ticket a decade. Typically, I drive like an old lady. And by old lady, obviously, I mean my grandmother. She is one of the original speed racers.

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Speaking of driving, why is it so difficult for some folks to figure out how to use turn signals. And there needs to be a course on the purpose and use of the turn lane. Personally, if I were a cop, I’d focus on those folks for my ticketing fix.

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Life at school has been hell hectic. The superintendent announced that jobs would be lost then decided to keep it a secret wait until after the state test to tell the pink-slipped folks and their principal. Enough already. Just let us know. The not knowing is causing typically kind people to start tattling and making stabbing behind back motions all kinds of anxiety. It hasn’t been pretty.

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I’ve been thinking about ordering a few of these awesome bottle openers. If they were painted gold, they could make some awesome awards for some real winners out there.

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Spring in Georgia is awesome. While it is still cold in the mornings and evenings, I have decided that I am done with winter clothes. I’ve pulled out the spring skirts and dresses. Let’s just say that I am embracing my whiteness.