I've Journaled A Lot Over The Years, But I Have Nothing To Show For It. I Throw My Writings Out Because I Don't Like To Think That If I Was Hit By A Bus Someone Would Find A Journal Of Mine And Use Something I Wrote Four Years Ago To Define Me Forever. It's Like Someone Finding A Picture Of You In Your Calvin Klein Jeans, Tennis Shoe Roller Skates, And Mork And Mindy Striped Suspenders And Believing That's How You Look Today.

I would have posted something last week, but the delete button won out.  Frankly, I'm glad it did.  If my 'planned' post was floating around out there in cyberspace forever and ever it would have given me an itchy, uncomfortable feeling.  I opened the aforementioned post with the incredibly Eeyore-esque thesis that I feel all my female relationships have disappeared and I'm in a weird place.  Basically, it sounded like, "I have no friends anymore and I could really use them now."  Then I moved on to explain, in thumb-sucking detail, that I was a victim of circumstance - no longer in a position to build relationships with other moms because my kids are in high school and parenting older, increasingly independent children is sort of hard, and also I'm trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up and I don't have a clue.  Waaaa.

I mean, I do feel there is a lot of change afoot in my life.  A lot.  I'm no longer standing with other moms around the elementary school waiting for our kids to get out and chatting about dance classes and the Science Fair.  The opportunity to talk with other people about where we are in life isn't as readily available as it used to be.  I'm parenting these older, complicated, busy, independent, unfinished, challenging, amazing, evolving people - and it's much harder and more wonderful than I ever imagined it could be.  I'm also thinking about starting a career again and I'm not sure what I'll end up doing or how best to go about making It (whatever It is) happen.  I wish someone would just knock on my door and offer me exactly what I need and want (because even I don't have those answers), but I know that is likely not in the cards.

Thing is though, while it all makes me a little nostalgic for simpler times and sometimes a little weary of the unsteadiness of it all, I don't feel mopey (usually).  Once I gave myself time to think and took a less knee-jerk reaction to a particularly lonely afternoon - I came back to a mindset that has proven itself very reliable for me over the years.  It's this:  choose Love over Fear.  We have the ability to choose to focus on whatever feeling we want, so why not make it a good one?  When Life is uncertain or challenging we get afraid.  Afraid we can't do something, afraid we're not good enough, afraid we'll do something wrong, afraid it's going to be like this forever.  That fear isn't helping us.  It's keeping our head in a bad place, it's paralyzing us to possible action, and it's sucking the joy out of Life.  We need to focus on Love instead.  Love for where we are, Love for who we are with, Love for what we do, and Love for who we are.

It's because we care so much that we become afraid.  We care that things are right and good and okay.  But being afraid won't make it so.  We need to fill our head and our heart with Love (as much as possible), and to trust (and hope and believe and all those other challenging verbs) that this very action of choosing Love instead of being afraid is already helping us move toward the kind of Life we want.*

* Please note:  This is sometimes really hard to do and we need to cut ourselves some slack when we fall a tad short of a blissful mindset.  Just have a glass of wine and try again tomorrow.

I believe Bobby McFerrin said it best, "Don't worry.  Be happy."  Eighties wisdom, indeed.

gratitude:  Burt's Bees lip balm in Watermelon, the orange/pink roses Geoff brought me,  a vacuum that works, the view on our walk today (see below)

thanks and love.

It's Eliza's 17th Birthday And I Can't Even Get My Head Around The Fact She Is This Age. Why Didn't 16 Affect Me Like This? Why Do My Kids Grow Up So Quickly? Why Won't She Let Me Homeschool Her For College?

I had such high hopes for cranking out a second blog post - right on the heels of my reintroduction - riding a wave of well-wishes and fresh eyes.  But I have a dog now.  So not only am I not producing blog posts on a timely basis, I'm also not getting a shower in until almost noon and I'm spending an inordinate amount of time watching YouTube videos about puppy mouthing and Fetch.

Having a young dog is like having a baby again.  I make sure he has stimulating toys, that he's eating only healthy snacks, I even find myself casually obsessively judging his poop quality to gauge his overall health.  And I'm so proud when he uses his good manners and greets people with a nice 'sit' - a rare event as he has developed the embarrassing habit of what can best be described as submissive peeing.  "Welcome to our home!  Just step over our dog. (Otis is, at this point, laying on his back and peeing on himself) What can I get you to drink?"

I was a little anxious the first time I took him to the dog park.  Like dropping your sweet baby off at preschool for the first time, I worried no one would play with him.  He was fine.  But there is so much else for me to fixate on at this point.  I worry that he's the only dog barking in the park.  Why does he like the dog with the short tail so much?  Why does he steal balls from other dogs?  How did he manage to eat an entire frisbee?  Did I just sit in pee?  Would a dog pee on this bench?  Is this jacket machine-washable?

I was much cooler when I was dealing with my children.  And here they are - my kids, even the furry one.

gratitude:  being a mom to Eliza and J.D., gift cards found at the bottom of my purse, Imitrex, dog toys that can be filled with treats

thanks and love.

Thanks To Two Wire Hangers, A Pasta Server, BBQ Tongs, And A Pair Of Scissors, I Cleared Out A Vacuum Clog The Size Of A Chihuahua. What A Rush!

And just like the dawn of a new day, or flu season, Positively Minutiae has returned.  It's been an interesting journey getting to this point.  I drafted a few 'I'm back!' posts, but never felt like they were 'Publish' button-worthy.  They just seemed to ramble on about laundry and dog hair - which are, for better or worse, major parts of my day-to-day existence.   But, I felt like there was more to share - I certainly had more going on inside my head than that and I spent weeks months trying get my thoughts to line up in some kind of logical order so I could assess my situation and get clear on where I was at this point in life.  And in between dinner, laundry, family schedule coordinating (which is, at times, like working in the air traffic control tower at a major airport), dog walking, dog hair removing, vacuuming up dog hair, picking up dog poop, buying/throwing dog toys (guess who got a new dog for Christmas?), grocery shopping, toilet cleaning and the like, it hit me.   I'm at a weird place in life.

This age.  Mid Late-forties.  I don't feel old, but I don't feel all that young either.  My kids are in high school, we have college tours on our calendar now, and I have what some consider to be gray hair although I prefer to look at is a more of an ash blonde, thank you very much.  I see a lot of road behind me.  But I also like skinny jeans, I like strappy high heels, I text (with emoticons if necessary) and Instagram, I listen to current music (although I will never understand dub step) - I'm not at the end of my road.  I even want to have another career.  It's a great/scary/exciting/worrisome/fun/challenging place to be in life and I think that it's highly under-talked about.  I'm hoping Positively Minutiae can fill that gap.

I know I'm not the only one at this place in life.  There are a lot of us out here.  But we're under-represented in the blog world.  When I search the Internet, I can't seem to find blogs talking about this strange and wonderful transition period.  There are a ton of sites for little kid moms - I must say, there simply aren't words to convey how very glad I am that I had Eliza and J.D. before the pressure of Pinterest-worthy parenting became a thing.  And there are a surprising number of blogs for fashionable, fun retirees.  I think it's so cool that someone well into their AARP subscription would jump into the blogosphere - kudos.  But, as far as finding something aimed at those of us in our mid-forties or fifties?  (crickets)

It's strangely like being a teenager again - stuck between childhood and adulthood - only now our zits are wrinkles and we find ourselves parenting through curfews and finals and varsity games; knowing all the while this is only a temporary stage and we'll need to fill a big space in our lives when those activities are no longer a part of our family calendar.  It's a happy and sad place, but a place that if experienced with as much peace and presence as we can muster, we'll emerge from satisfied and ready for the next chapter.  I think.

As usual, I will continue to try to find the humor in it all and to always be grateful.  On that note, I'm off to defrost some meat.

gratitude:  the smell of Otis' (our new dog) neck, quiet mornings with the kids home in bed, a clean kitchen, quality hand lotion.

thanks and love.

Remember When Forrest Gump Just Stopped Running? That's Kinda Me Right Now.

Maybe I'm running out of things to say.  I suppose after blogging three days a week for a year and a half, that could happen - even to someone like me who is constantly wording thoughts in my head.  Since I don't share all of my life on my blog, my subject matter is often limited to esoteric anecdotes, mindful living reminders, laundry and trouble with wild birds.  I choose not to share the vast majority of my thoughts and experiences in order to maintain my privacy and to protect the innocent.  That said, I'm discovering that the twenty percent of my life that's comfortably sharable and moderately funny, doesn't change much from year to year.  When I sit down to write, it's like deja vu.  Or Groundhog Day.

So I'm going to stop.  Maybe for awhile, maybe forever.  If something interesting or funny happens or I come upon some fresh insight or an unusually cute outfit, I might share it.  We'll see.  There is just so much out there and I want what I write to fill a unique and special space.  Is there even one available?  Regardless, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading my words.  It made me feel so good to write publicly again, but now you'll have to sneak into my house and find my journal if you need a little Minutiae.  But don't because that would freak us all out.

Remember to stay grateful.  And that there is humor to be found in almost every situation. 

I miss my blog already.

thanks and love.

No Matter How Challenging It Is To Coordinate Multiple Teen Sport Schedules, Nothing Will Ever Compete With The Nagging Fear Of Missing Your Turn To Bring Post-Game Snacks When The Kids Were Really Little. I Spent Three Years Driving Around With A Case Of Capri Suns And 25 Mini Bags Of Sun Chips Just In Case Something Had Slipped Through The Cracks.

I think my weekly doses of Minutiae may be moving to a summer schedule of Tuesdays and Thursdays.  While these posts clearly don't take up my entire day - there is a significant amount of time involved.  I mean, those clothes don't just put themselves on the floor to be photographed, do they?  And we seem to have entered an entirely new world of summer sport-based 'busyness'.  Both the kids are on new teams that are competing all weekend every weekend and a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule of blog posts doesn't seem to be fitting in very well.

My Fridays are now devoted to last-minute trips to Dick's to buy my weekly load of Gatorade water bottles (where do they go??) and Google mapping the 17 fields we need to locate in the next 48 hours.  And Mondays find me wondering what in the world made me think it was a good idea to start a load of laundry on Saturday morning that I only remembered days later when we were all forced into a post-shower dabbing off with paper towels.  I am open to any and all tips regarding mildew scent removal.

These new teams are also run by younger people which has added an unexpected challenge.  Young coaches are a tad more comfortable with social media than I am, and now I feel I'm being forced to adopt new modes of communication just to stay up-to-date on the teams' goings on.  Soccer requires a special username and password to access the team website simply to confirm an upcoming practice time via the online calendar.   This is meant to be super useful - apparently your phone can simply sync up with the website calendar and voila! you're always current.  I do not use a calendar on my phone, I like a good old-fashioned paper calendar, but thanks to my lagging cyber skills I'm not only forced to spend extra time cross referencing their calendar with mine for last minute changes,  but I'm also battling the icy fear that technology is passing me by all too quickly.

Our lacrosse team communicates mostly via Twitter.  'Nuff said.

I'm wearing this:

Today I'm dressed in my hippie gardener look.  Because I'm going to finish planting all the stuff in my pots and I intend to do it while listening to music from the 70's.

gratitude:  a couple hours alone with the fam, ice cream, patio sitting, sleeping kids

thanks and love.

On Living With Teens Who's Days Continue Even After You've Gone To Bed. It's Always Interesting To Peek Into The Kitchen Trash Can In The Morning And Piece Together The Parts Of The Evening We May Have Missed. Apparently Last Night Involved Brownies.

Some of the transitions we've been forced to make made as parents are incredible when you really think about them.  It used to be that the whole house had to be cleaned up, locked up, and I would need to personally witness the sleeping faces of my sweet babies before I could even consider heading to bed myself.

Last night I crept up the stairs holding my cup of chamomile tea around 11:00 and looked over my shoulder at the children in my kitchen.  I saw JD laying on the island wearing only his lacrosse shorts.  Eliza and a friend were drawing a Colorado flag on his chest and mixing up some henna to cover their outline.  A male friend of theirs was standing nearby, chatting with the girls and swinging his car keys on one of those lariats they all carry narrowly missing our cabinets with every circle he made.  The floor was strewn with lacrosse equipment, flip flops, soccer sweats and a damp towel (cause of wetness, undetermined).  As I reached the top stair, the doorbell rang and, from the sound of it, at least two more people entered our home.  They were not using their inside voices.

So that's it.  Summer nights with teenagers.  I drifted off to a light sleep, but let's be honest, it's impossible to really hit a serious REM stage under those conditions.  Even though we're not reading bedtime stories and enjoying bath time, I still won't give up total consciousness until the kids have closed up the house and come in to say goodnight.  Now that I think about it, the nighttime routine is basically the same except our roles are somewhat reversed:  I'm being tucked in now.  I'll still get up from time to time to peek in at their sweet sleeping faces, but it's usually around 2:00 in the morning, and as I step into their rooms to make my way to their beds I make every effort not to fixate on the fact that nearly every inch of their floors are covered with clothes I swear I just washed.  I'm just glad they're safe and sound.  That's all that really matters.

I'm wearing this.

We'll be at a lacrosse game this evening, so jeans are in order.  Of course, based on the forecast, this entire look may be covered with a raincoat at game time.  "Can't get enough of watching sports in the rain," she said with a forced enthusiasm.

gratitude:  having a home the kids like to hang out in, Geoff's cancelled trip for next week, new sport adventures, my voice returning

thanks and love.

In Keeping With My Tradition Of Mostly Writing About Whatever Happens To Be On My Mind, We Delve Into The Fascinating Topic Of Laundry Today. I Guess I'm Still Riding The High From Finding A Pair Of Socks For Geoff Before He Left For The Airport This Morning During A Frantic Search Through A Load That Had Been Moved From The Dryer, To A Chair, Then To The Couch And Included Those Microfiber Clothes That Every Single Sock Sticks To Like Velcro. It Was Quite A Moment.

I do all the laundry for our family.  We're not one of those households that require the kids to start doing their own washing once they hit the teen years or enter high school.  While I admire those of you that can confidently hoist that responsibility on your kids, my children will be total laundry rookies when they head to college.  And I'm okay with that.

Personally, I can't imagine the chaos that would ensue if we were all in charge of cleaning only our own clothes.  I guarantee we'd all want to do our loads at the exact same time.  We could make a schedule, I suppose, but schedules work for us for about two weeks.  It's nothing I'm proud of but how many chore charts and reading logs do we need to start and never finish before we realize that's just not who we are?

Plus, we have those high-capacity machines and I push them to their limits (trust me, there is always room for another pair of jeans in there).  It would seem like wasted space if we were each tossing in cute little bunches of clothing.  Our loads are worthy of a weight belt or at least a regular reminder to lift with your legs.

And I don't really mind doing the laundry.  It's not like I have to haul the clothes down to the river and beat them on a rock to get them clean.  Basically I sort them by color (which is somewhat soothing in an OCD kind of way), toss them in the machine and press a few buttons.  No big deal.  I think modern laundering is almost a celebration of how far we've come technologically as a people.  Folding the clothes, however, is another story.  How about some advancements there, inventor-types?

I'm wearing this.

I just don't have it in me to try to photograph myself today, so clothes on the floor it is.

And on a waaaaaaayyyy more meaningful note, I'd like to acknowledge the passing of the incredible Maya Angelou.  She has been one of my favorite poets for over 25 years.  I went to a reading she did at the University of Colorado when I was in graduate school there and I feel so lucky to have heard her live.  While her writing is undeniably beautiful and powerful, hearing her read her poems in person, with her unique tone and cadence, was magic.  Here is one of my very favorite pieces of hers:

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size 
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips, 
The stride of my step, 
The curl of my lips. 
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, 
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please, 
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees. 
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees. 
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes, 
And the flash of my teeth, 
The swing in my waist, 
And the joy in my feet. 
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered 
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them, 
They say they still can't see. 
I say,
It's in the arch of my back, 
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed. 
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud. 
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels, 
The bend of my hair, 
The palm of my hand, 
The need for my care. 
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
—Maya Angelou

gratitude:  the smell of summer, Maya Angelou's writing, lilacs, the end of the school year

thanks and love.