These are blocks from a quilt I'm working on. It's a fairly traditional
quilt, but I love how at this stage it looks kind of funky and modern.
My dears, I am tired.
I am so tired that what I first wrote was I am tried.
It's sort of the same thing, isn't it?
Last night was Parents' Night at Our Fine Upper School. We went to all of Jack's classes, which made me and the Man both mournful over our substandard high school experiences. Also, it made us even more aware of the fact that Jack is a million times smarter than either of us (but not even half as wise, and wisdom is the important thing, isn't it?).
Sometimes I'm very good socially. I get in a groove and am witty. I find my audience. But last night I wasn't on my game. That happens a lot. I did my best to just shut up. When I was in a classroom full of the Upper School's Mover & Shaker moms who always make me feel insecure, I repeated my favorite mantra, Be not afraid, be not afraid. Because insecurity, like stress, is just fear. I kept my thoughts and questions to myself. Let's just get through this, I thought.
But after Jack's AP Calculus teacher (and yes, I have a child taking AP Calculus, and yes, I don't even know what Calculus is) made the year ahead sound like the Bataan Death March and then asked for questions, I could not stop myself from raising my hand and asking, "Is there any pleasure to be had in Calculus? Because you make it sound sort of depressing."
(Interestingly, Jack's teacher's eyes lit up at this question and he answered it with a resounding "Yes! There is!" so while everyone else sitting there probably thought I was an idiot, Mr. J seemed happy to have an opportunity to explain why Calculus is beautiful.)
So anyway, it's Friday night, and today I wrote and had lunch with the Man and went to the grocery store and cleaned out my freezer and thought, "I need to get ready for the holidays." Cleaning out the freezer reminded me that I always think I'm going to clean out my freezer and lazy susan and pantry before Christmas, but I never do. I have such plans for order and beauty, but they never happen, at least not all at once, and never two weeks before Christmas. Maybe if I'd taken Calculus?