An Italian-American living la dolce vita in the Deep South

An Italian-American living la dolce vita in the Deep South

Friday, September 23, 2016

Hello Weekend


Benjamin Moore first stop of the day
Paint to channel my inner Monet.
Interviewed a priest from the mid-west 
Post office, Publix, carpool … I’m stressed! 
Then homemade chicken nuggets to dine
Later, this poem. Do I have the time?!
But the setting sun’s just ‘round the bend 
Two days to unwind … hello weekend. 
 
*from the files of very bad poetry by bia
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Wednesday, September 7, 2016

The Worst Week EVER

"This has been the worst week ever," announced Timothy when I picked him up from school this afternoon.


"Worst week ever, EVER?" I asked.


"Ever." he said.


"Of your entire life?"


He nodded.


Oh boy. He's only 12 and it's only Wednesday.


So on the way home he told me about this and about that. There wasn't one specific thing, just a bunch of little things that, when added together, did indeed make it seem like the worst week EVER.


And in listening to him, I realized I had forgotten how rough these middle school years can be. It's a messy, confusing time. A time in which sometimes kids need to figure things out by themselves.


Joe and I have always said that one of the hardest things about parenting is finding the wisdom (and courage) to step back and allow our sons to work things out on their own. Our son had a bad day, I knew that, but I also knew there was nothing I could do to fix the problem. Offer words of encouragement? Yes, of course. Try to make him laugh? Sure. Pray? Yes, often and sometimes desperately.


But fix the problem? No, not all the time.


So I listened to him, gave him some advice, told a corny joke, and assured him that things always look better the next day.


Then we stopped at McDonald's because, you know, sometimes French fries help, too.


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Thursday, September 1, 2016

A Pep Talk in the Mirror

Here's what I like to do: after a gym workout I walk in the locker room and look in the mirror --  not because I look good (believe me, I'm a hot mess) but because I like to take in my sweaty red face, my sweaty hair and my sweaty workout clothes, and know that I worked hard.


This morning, after an hour and a half, I was beyond frightening.


And that's a good thing.


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