Saith the dad… If two male bears live in the same cave, it might be time for one to find a new cave.
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Saith the mom… It seems it is time for a cub to move out – or at least vacate the kitchen.
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Saith the cubs… *Laughter*
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I believe that in the last week I have learned more about the way auto insurance works than I learned in the 30 some-odd years I have been driving. Sadly, it has taken an accident, three old cars, two teen drivers, and half a dozen phone calls to gain my new knowledge. Oh, and the teen drivers were not involved in the accident. I really hope this new found knowledge saves me money, but never needs to be dredged up in the future.
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The hardest part of writing a new chapter is getting the document open. It is amazing how long it takes to accomplish this simple task.
Now if I could just get the first paragraph finished, I might just find a chapter rattling around in my head.
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My son is getting his wisdom teeth out today. Due to the icy roads, my car in the shop, and my husband’s car not being as comfortable to travel in as mine, I opted to stay home and let my husband handle this one. Oh, the misery of recognizing your kids have grown and that dad can finally replace mom at the bed-side.
Truthfully, it is decadent this feeling that I was able to put my health first for once. Why did it take me 17 years to recognize that my husband is so much more calm than I am with these things? And his bed-side manner is much more “motherly” than mine. Still, the kids prefer me so I had better go prepare for the return of my drugged-up, chipmunked faced boy.
Don’t get me wrong, this turning over control to the dad is not fun, but it does seem to be much less stressful than the anxiety inducing road conditions and dentist scenario. And since the son will soon leave home, this may very well be good for easing the separation anxiety as well.
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Never let yourself get rundown or exhausted. If you do, writers block, self-doubt, and general malaise will be your companions.
Not to mention your writing will sound much better to your own ears when you are not a weepy, blithering, sleep deprived mess.
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Utter relief that the husband is unhurt wars with the angst of why bad things happen.
It is really quite the turbulence of emotion that descends when relief wars with the concerns over repair costs, frustration with bad drivers, and the anguish of why – why him, why now, why could it not have been avoided.
Then relief and reason wins the battle with the recognition of how bad it could have been. Honda Pilots do not usually win against semi-trailers, but in this case the skill of the driver and some Divine intervention saved the husband, saved the Honda, and saved my sanity.
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The recipe for a good day…
A few quality hours spent writing my thesis.
A few quality hours being a mom.
A few quality hours spending time with my husband.
A few quality hours goofing off.
Now if I can just repeat this routine daily, I will survive my thesis.
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Inspired by the young people in my home. Advice given, rolled eyes received. There are just days when this kind of logic makes sense. Today is one of them.
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I have begun to understand why young historians gravitate to the long dead rather than more recent history when undertaking historical research. While there may be less material easily discoverable, at least there is no ambiguity as to if the material is considered history. Trying to research more recent events, particularly the history of diplomacy and foreign policy, is fraught with the danger of leaving the realm of history and entering the realm of political science. And of course, there is the ever present frustration of feeling old because you lived through the “history” about which you are writing.
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When you are young, a morning hangover results from staying up late partying. When you are old, a hangover is the simple byproduct of writing your Master’s thesis late into the night while eating fresh baked, chocolate chip cookies as substitute for dinner.
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Pithy Ponderings 