State of Obvious

So this is seventeen. It's charm and silence and sighs. It's longer legs and towering above my head. It's venturing out alone in a car. It's struggling and succeeding.   It's struggling and failing. It's beauty in small moments and watching TV together. It's independence and complete dependence. It's being sure and being completely lost. In many ways, seventeen is nothing new.   He's still him, and I'm still me.   In many ways, seventeen is nothing I've ever known. It's a strange feeling in my heart, in this space that he occupies, in this chamber, in this place. My own seventeen was a lot more mystery, a lot more self doubt, a lot more fear. My own seventeen was painful and strange. And so this new seventeen is scary, too. It's letting go, even though I'm not ready. It's holding on for dear life. So, this is seventeen.  *Photos by Payneless Photo...

Dear Josh,   I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart. It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it ...

 I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old.  From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad.  Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!).   But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful.  You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe.  It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out.  It practically oozes from your pores.  More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you.  People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes.  Attracted like bugs to a light.  You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding. We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now. ...

This summer, instead of blogging (which, let's be honest, I haven't been doing much when it's not summer.  But, I digress), I have been: - Job hunting (found one!) - Having repeated teacher nightmares (one last night!) - Looking for free resources to use in my classroom (need more!) - Watching too much TV (an accomplishment given that we only have about five channels!) - Building an addiction to Longmire (hooray for Amazon Prime and Netflix!) - Not cleaning the house much (who cares!) - Visiting California (first world problems!) - Scrapbook shop hopping with my sister (charms ahoy!) - Wondering where Carly's next mood swing will take me (and she's not even a teenager!) - Freaking out about how tall Josh suddenly seems to be (holy cow!) - Questioning so many of my life decisions that they've all started to swim together into one (yikes!) - Reading too much BuzzFeed (see above!) - Eating an unusually large quantity of cinnamon gummy bears (I blame m...

The house is still, though it never seems to be exactly silent.  Always there is a buzz, a sigh, a whirl.  Fans spinning or washing machines, dogs snoring or people turning over.  In the night, we are at our most vulnerable.  And yet, we trust. In my heart there is a persistence of hope during these silent hours.  It changes from day to day, that thing I hope for.  Some days it is a small hope for better weather or maybe some rain.  Other days, it is a heavy burden holding me down and I just want it to float away.  I turn this way and that, searching searching, I'm not sure what for.  I keep wondering when I'll find it , that thing that makes the pieces come together in the right order.  I often think that, perhaps, that thing is already here and I've just gotten really good at ignoring it.  Whatever IT is. In these silent hours, mind spinning and thoughts a blur, I let my body slow down into that pattern of just before sleep. ...

Dear me, I'd like to say a few words about what this day means.  This day of birth wherein I (you?) entered the world some thirty seven years ago, asleep.  Yes, asleep.  And still trying to catch up where I left off when so rudely interrupted by a smack on the behind. I'd like to say there is some magic formula or perfect sentence that sums up what it means to advance another year older and wiser, but if anything I've learned that most days (including birthdays) go on basically like the ones before.  Sure, there are the frilly types of days mixed in: celebrations, births, surprises, and the like.  But, really it all mixes together into memory-soup and it's hard to separate the strands. The year of thirty-six was spent largely learning to become a teacher.  Interestingly enough, I learned that I already pretty much am one (a teacher) and that there is a lot more fuss and bother than actual teaching on some days.  (Freshman - need I say more? (Okay...

The vast blue sky And golden rays Turtle dove songs outside my window The smell of freshly washed hair My daughter's soft skin Brown eyes A roof that hasn't leaked A painted picture of the sea The taste of beans and chile Clanging heater vents, alive with warm air Rosy, heart-shaped lips Chocolate The ocean pulsing on the sand White snow laid freshly down Skeleton arms of trees Dogs barking over the cat's meow A quilt made of favorite shirts And dreams.

For George I see him in the trees Tall and strong, gangly limbs that try to touch the sky “Be strong,” they say “Stand tall,” they tell me “Reach.” I see him in the river Always moving, changing fast, full of stories “Keep going,” it rumbles “Cut new paths,” it beckons “Search.” I see him in the birds The cunning hawk, the splendid eagle, the curious sparrow “Fly farther,” they call “Hunt far and wide,” they sing “Soar.” I see him in adobe In the gentle carvings of a rough, strong hand In quiet rooms of light In many windows facing east To sunrise.

...has been a hard one for me.  For a lot of reasons, some of which I'll list (school, teaching, school, busy-ness, school...) and some of which I won't (........).  I'm tired.  To a degree that I have not experienced before.  They told me going in (to the first semester of a Master's Degree and Teacher Certification combined) that this one would be the hardest.  And it has been.  Not because of the classes - those haven't been that bad, actually.  But because of the amount of running around, planning, revising, running around some more, and missing my family that comes with those classes.  I just keep telling myself to hang in there, it's almost done, only a little longer, and so on.  And here I am at the end, still mostly in once piece. ...has been a season of grief.  Everywhere I look, I see people and things that I've lost.  Eric's mom, Ann, seems to be whispering in my ear.  I even dream about her on a regular basis. ...

Dear Charlotte, Carly was baptized on Saturday.  After some stress and movie trouble and programs printed wrong twice in a row, it went off without a hitch.  Carly wore a lovely white dress which you made and she positively glowed.  I've never been hugged so tight by the starfish child as when she came to me out of the font. When I took you to the airport, a most odious task I always dread because it means you are leaving, you thanked me for letting you participate in Carly's baptism and life in general.  It caught me off guard, I'm sure you noticed.  Because, I can't image it any other way.  If anything, I wish I had you more.  More tickling and laughing and comforting and loving.  Because you give all that you have so freely.  Because you make way and make time and make efforts beyond what's minimally required by ties of "family".  Because I cannot remember a time in my life where I have not admired you.  Although perhaps you ...

Married life is not what I expected.  Oh, there are some things that seem "normal" - you know, the kids, houses, dogs, jobs, worries, and all that.  But, I don't think anything can prepare you for what it is like to share your life if you're all in.  Because, if you are all in, you have to surrender.  Control, mostly.  You are no longer the only thing that matters. In the last sixteen years, we have: Moved four times. Welcomed two children. Had 3 dogs and 4 cats. Visited the Grand Canyon. Gone swimming in the Great Lakes and Pacific Ocean. Bought a house. Owned or leased 8 different cars (holy smokes!). Earned a master's degree and bachelor's degree between us. Had 10 different jobs between us. Stayed in really bad motels, slightly better hotels, and really nice hotels on various occasions. Been through: Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Nebraska, Iowa, Texas, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, California, New York, Pennsylva...

August is a busy month in the T house.  Carly's birthday comes first (as noted), followed quickly by Josh, followed even more quickly by our wedding anniversary.  Quick fact: Joshua came home from the hospital on our first anniversary.  Fourteen other quick and dirty facts about my firstborn: Photo by DeAnn Payne thesipproject.blogspot.com -  He loves Godzilla. -  And Bigfoot. -  His long standing nickname is Chibby.  He earned it by naming his toys "Chibby" when he was playing pretend.  At one point, he requested that we stop calling him Chibby and start calling him Shredder instead.  That didn't really work out. -  Other nicknames include, but are not limited to: Chibnasty, Chibster, Joshy Boy, Joshy Boshy, Joshuweta, Joshy, and Bug-a-boo (though that last one is rather antiquated these days, sigh). -  Josh has a secret and special nickname assigned by his Aunt Charlotte which I shall not reveal. -  Josh love...

On this very night eight years ago, my little Carly was preparing her descent into the crazy world below.  Here are eight beautiful things about my miracle child. 1.  She's happy, so so happy.  In fact, she spent a good twenty minutes this afternoon just singing "I'm happy! Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy!  I'm so happy!"  It makes me believe that even though I do a lot of things wrong, I'm getting the important things right. 2.  She's crazy.  Cray-cray.  Flipping, jumping, screaming, off her rocker in the very best possible way. 3.  She's snugly.  Super snugly lately, so much so that she seems to be on top of me wherever I go.  Which is mostly fantastic, but occasionally smothering.  (But, mostly fantastic.) 4.  She's funny.  This afternoon she asked "Why do people have arms on their hair?"  Which was supposed to be "Why do people have arm hair."   5.  She tries really hard to ...

My husband and I decided that I would go to London with my sister and mom as a reward for graduating. But, then, tickets were like 1 trillion dollars, give or take. Plan B: New York City.  I bought tickets for Wicked on Broadway (I know, I was asking for it).  We had a hotel in Manhattan.  We were going to visit some amazing places. But, then, my sister had to change her plans so she could launch a rocket. So, off to Florida we went, we three.  (Cha Cha doesn't do press). In Orlando, we went to visit a magical wizard (twice, but not in a row).  We bought wands and chocolates that melted in the bag before we could get to the parking lot (and yes, we bought them on our way out).  We rode rides that spun us around and upside down.  We ate in the Three Broomsticks and drank Butterbeer (one person was too afraid to try it, but I won't name names Charlotte).     We visited a very strange swamp meet/flea market whe...

How do you feel?  Facebook keeps asking me that like it is a living, breathing person who cares.  Silly facebook, I know you're not real.  But still. I feel overwhelmed.  I have so much to do and not enough hours in the day.  If I sleep in (which I did), I scrutinize those minutes and wonder if they are wasted.  If I watch TV, play a game, do nothing, I feel like I'm running behind. I am too busy. But not too busy for facebook to keep asking me how I'm doing. I guess that's ironic. Or it's just that I need to sometimes come up for air.  For pause.  For full stop (like this weekend when I ran around California with my sister and ate lots of In-n-Out.  It was good, the burgers and the running and especially my sister.) I felt refreshed, and then I pushed play. And now - how do I feel? Overwhelmed.  There are not enough hours in the day.  If I sleep - well, why don't we find out?

I got to check out of my life for almost a month. I got to stick my feet and hands in the sand, feeling the joy of small and simple things. I dreamed fantastical dreams, imagining what it would be like to live in those big places with lots and lots of money and very little worry. I got to act silly for absolutely no reason.  Just because it felt good. And dance lightly across the pounding waves. And for a little while, everything was perfect. I highly recommend it. *special thanks to Cha-Cha, Queen of Legos, for the great pictures and letting us visit*