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.