I recently discovered that a number of universities have free online courses-- usually six to eight weeks long, and on most any topic you can imagine.  I'm fascinated by this.  I signed myself up for a few--one about food writing, and one about science-fiction and fantasy.  The second one is turning out to be a bit more time-consuming than I'd anticipated, but I'm enjoying stretching my brain this way.  We read one book a week, and write a small essay on a topic related to the reading.  It's been nearly twenty years since I wrote an essay, and I'm loving this.  I'm kind of proud of what I've produced, and I'm eager for feedback.  A small part of me would love to return to college, and actually do it properly this time.  Less fun, more studying.  I've considered going back to study library science, but at this point, I think our family would be better served if Jay got his masters, and if we saved for N to go to college eventually. I'll keep taking my freebie one-off classes, and sharpen my brain that way for now. 

Today, my kid and I experienced the kind of torrential rain that leaves you soaked to the skin, hair dripping, shoes squelching, shivering, and all-over miserable.  Twice.   Within about four hours.  The first time, we were caught at the grocery store without umbrellas or rain jackets, and we chose to sprint to the car rather than wait for the storm to pass.  (This was wise, as the rain didn't let up until we'd been home for about twenty minutes.)  The second time, we were a little better prepared, with umbrellas and hoodies, so we didn't require a complete wardrobe change and a hair dryer when we arrived at our destination.  It was weirdly exhilarating, resigning ourselves to the inevitable, plunging in even though we knew we'd be dripping. Nan said (after our first dousing), "I don't EVER WANT THAT TO HAPPEN AGAIN."  I laughed, and told her it would-- you can't avoid it without living in a bubble.  We giggled as we tried to decide which of us was wetter (me-- I had to sacrifice myself to get the groceries in the car), and we both sighed with relief as we changed into warm, dry clothes.  We spent the next two hours working on the last school project of the year (a story for another time-- I'm pretty sure her teacher is trying to kill me DEAD)  and all was peaceful.   It was one of the nicest afternoons we've had in awhile. d

Pardon the dust...

So.  It appears that I have a blog.  It's been awhile.  Um... since last I wrote, I came EVEN CLOSER to my ultimate dream of becoming fully bionic.  I have about twelve screws in my right foot-- my x-ray is AMAZING.  (It's my husband's favorite party trick. He loves to show people the horrifying image that is my own personal foot and see the terror in their eyes.)   My baby is big.  I'm working nearly full time.  These events contribute to my everlasting feeling of being overly busy, but neither comes close to ruining my life as much as the deep vein of serial volunteerism that I discovered when the kid started elementary school.  Holy moly. I'm pretty sure the PTO saw me coming-- a wide-eyed, innocent kindergarten parent, eager to please, hoping to help.  I was chairing three committees the first year, and I was on the board for the following three years.  However.  We've moved, and I've been wrenched from the routine, and I'm able to reassess the situation.  Does this bring me joy anymore?  Nope.  Will I quit? I think I will.  How will I fill my time?  Not sure yet.  This could be part of that.

I've been trying to finish reading this particular manuscript for nearly a week now... it's on the short side (only 180 pages), but it's just not. holding. my. interest. I feel like I need to turn in the completed press release tomorrow, but I cannot complete said release until I finish the damned book. It's been open on my laptop all evening; instead of reading this lovely tome, I've trolled oDesk for jobs, played Scrabble, read blogs, watched a movie on FX, considered showering, thought of snack options, decided I was too lazy to shower OR snack, congratulated myself on the latter, plotted what time I'd need to get up in the morning to get showered, wondered if I could get away without it for the morning, told myself ten times that I should really go to bed, researched pancake recipes for the cooking challenge (a sidenote: I've made THREE kinds of pancakes for the effing cooking challenge in the last couple of years, and now they've chosen pancakes for this month's challenge. Can I just refer everyone to my previous entries???), found a good recipe for a brunch I've been invited to in a month, made a grocery list in my head, considered getting up to get my phone to put the list somewhere that I could actually use it, rejected the notion of getting up from the couch, made a mental note to start the dryer again, and blogged. Looking at that list, I feel slightly more productive than I actually was. Jay and Natalie have been asleep for hours. I should join them. Especially if I plan to shower in the morning.

I've been hard at work putting together my own personal literary sweatshop (tm my friend Seth-- I love the phrase, and it perfectly describes my pay). I've cobbled together three or four semi-regular things, and I'm writing bits and pieces on the side. I've enjoyed this tremendously. However, my study time for the CCA exam has been DRASTICALLY reduced as I commit myself to write more. I've intended to study the last couple of mornings, but instead I found myself pounding out five articles on the topic of personal finance (250 words per article, at 2 cents a word-- yes, that is TWO CENTS, as in two pennies) instead of boning up on the art of medical coding. I've decided to view this time of low-paying work as an internship of sorts. I'm becoming familiar with the rhythm of copy writing, and I'm learning how to write about pretty much anything thrown at me. Above all, it's fun. This evening, as Jay and Natalie played on the Wii, I wrote 500 words about the difference between antihistamines and decongestants. It was fabulous. I felt such a sense of accomplishment for 45 minutes of work, a sense of accomplishment that has been gone from my day-to-day life for the last few years. Being a mom is tremendous, the best thing I've done, but you don't get a lot of positive feedback. I'd love to have a formal performance review once a year. When Nan was small, that's how I viewed visits to the pediatrician... when she grew, I felt like I'd gotten a great review. Dr. O had no idea how much my self-esteem depended on her casual, "Looks good, mom!" As the kid gets bigger and ventures out into the world on her own, I have to find something else to give me that feeling. This might be it.

So today was the big kindergarten roundup... and, honestly, it was kind of a let-down. It was just a bunch of paperwork. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I guess I was expecting more. (Lassos? Horses? The roundup terminology is confusing...) We get to go back in mid-April in the evening, so she can get a look at the classroom and we can get a crack at the teachers. I /did/ manage to grab the PTO materials, and I've been trying to decide how I can be of service there. Nan did a beautiful job, waiting quietly for me to finish the eighteen tons of paperwork. She made a friend over by the pile of My Little Ponies, though (of course) she couldn't tell me her name twenty minutes later. That's her father-- I remember everyone in my third grade class. I'm lucky Jay remembers MY name.

Tonight, Nan and I discussed the sibling issue for the first time. Specifically, her lack of siblings. She was sharing the details of her future with me at bedtime, and she said she planned to have at LEAST two children, maybe more. Because the kids might get lonely. Tenatively, I asked her if SHE ever wished she had a brother or sister. "Yeesssss..." she said, eying me with hope. I explained that she was the only kid in our family, and that was how it was going to stay. "Why?" Hmm. How much information is TOO much for five? "Uh, well, Mommy and Daddy had a really tough time getting you, and because of Mommy's health problems, we decided to stick to one kid." "What are health problems?" Oy. "You know how Mommy has arthritis? Stuff like that." I doubt the kid would understand "minimally invasive hysterectomy". She seemed content with the explanation, and we discussed the many pros to being the only kid in the house. But she still plans to have many children. And if they want a dog? "Heck YEAH I'll get them a dog." I'm duly chastened.