Jenyfer Matthews

I had planned to write a thoughtful book review of The Kite Runner for today, but what with birthday party planning, manic quilting, and the usual daily chores it didn’t happen. I thought I might even be able to write it up this morning but not only didn’t I have any coherent thoughts in my head, other things got in the way.

6am – 7:30am: Get up, get the children up and ready for school
8am: Remember NOT to eat breakfast or have my morning tea because of a physical with blood work at 2pm
9am: Tennis lesson
10am: Buy birthday present for party my daughter is attending Thursday after school
11am: One hour commute to campus (where physical will take place)
12noon: Arrive campus, finally get my campus ID
2pm: Physical
3pm: SNACK
4pm: Commute one hour home
5pm: Homework, dinner
6:30pm: Yoga class (think I’ll actually make it???)

The plans for the dance party are coming together well – I have most of the food, a play list for the dancing, and a disco ball. Not making a cake – we’re doing build-your-own-sundaes. I’m supplying the space, the music, and the sugar. The children will have to supply the fun!

I haven’t been in a great mood this week. Not sure what is up exactly – at least some of it is hormones and some of it is the hot weather. The rest? I think it boils down to time.

For me, there is always a balance between finding time to get all that needs to be done accomplished and finding time for me. If I am too busy, I get stressed out. If I don’t have enough to do, I get antsy and find myself merely killing time rather than enjoying the moment which is depressing. I like to feel productive, BUT if I have too many things that are in service to other people, I start to feel resentful. If I let too many things slide in order to make more “me-time” then I feel guilty.

But wait! There’s more.

If I have to spend too much time out and about socializing, I start to feel frazzled. But if I spend too much time alone, I feel flat.

Obviously, it’s a fairly delicate balancing act on a good day – throw some hormones in there and a couple of smart-mouthed children and I guess I have the answer to why this week has been less than satisfying for me so far.

Good thing I’m going to beach on Friday…

I never participated in sports as a kid. First because the Catholic school I attended until eight grade didn’t even have PE class. Later, I was much too self-conscious to admit that I didn’t know how to play various games which was necessary before I could actually learn to play anything.

What it boils down to is that if I can’t be sure I’ll do something well, I just won’t do it at all. Instead of sports, I concentrated on my school work and was on the honor roll rather than a team.

Never in my wildest imagination did I ever expect to have two such sports-gifted children. They are amazing to watch. And after two years of watching them play tennis and making it look easy, I was sucked in to my own lessons at the suggestion of a friend.

I really ought to have known better.

It’s not that I’m bad at it. I’m okay for a beginner, even if it isn’t as easy as the children make it look. It’s that I let myself get intensely competitive about the whole thing. I want to be the best. Except why does it matter? It’s not as if I’m ever going to be a champion tennis player at my age. I’m an adult and supposed to be more mature than that, so why can’t I just relax and have fun with it instead of channeling my inner McEnroe?

The experience has given me new insight into my children’s mentality with their own tennis lessons, and not always in a good or comfortable way. Funny to think that I was on the right track as a young person by just avoiding the whole thing…

This year has been very episodic and strange. We were just settling in to a nice routine after last summer’s vacation when the school closures started for the 2009 Flu Freakout. Then there were holidays, more flu closures, and more holidays. I went on my trip to Thailand and just when it looked like things were settling down again, I had to go to the US on the medical mission with my son.

And still there’s no stopping in sight.

This weekend my son and I are taking a university organized trip to the Sinai peninsula. Part beach trip, part tour of St. Catherine’s Monastery it should be a lot of fun. Apparently the official name of St. Catherine’s Monastery is The Sacred and Imperial Monastery of the God-Trodden Mount of Sinai. It’s also home to the well where Moses met his wife and site of THE Burning Bush. My son has been having a hard time understanding that the Burning Bush is not still burning (no eternal flame!) and that there aren’t any charred leaves in evidence either (at least there weren’t when I last visited the site in 2004) If the bush will be underwhelming for him, perhaps a climb up Mt. Sinai at sunset and some beach play in the Red Sea will make up for it.

Expect pictures next week.

I booked this trip for my son and I well before I knew he and I would be spending so much quality time together in Cleveland. It was also meant as a special trip for him to make up for his disappointment over the fact that his sister is taking a week-long class trip to Cyprus next week. I’d kind of like to just relax this weekend, but I also like to take advantage of these sorts of opportunities when they come along. So I spent yesterday packing: for my weekend getaway with my son and also for my daughter’s class trip. I’ll get home on Sunday evening just in time to send my daughter on her way Monday afternoon.

And if all that wasn’t enough, I already booked my reservations for summer vacation (barring more volcanic activity!) I’m racking up the frequent flier miles like you wouldn’t believe!

I’m a wanderer, yeah the wanderer,
I roam around around around around…

I’ve come to accept that as long as an indoor laundry drying rack and a mountain bike are permanent fixtures, my bedroom will never be a beautiful room. And that’s a shame because we have a couple of nice pieces of furniture and some really lovely quilts to beautify the space as well as a wall of windows to let in the sun.

My room has also been the space where all the stuff I intend to deal with “later” ends up. I’m happy to say that “later” finally happened over the weekend.

The club where my children take tennis lessons hosted a flea market so I reserved myself a table and got all the various boxes and bags of clothes, books, and toys the children have outgrown organized to sell. In truth, it didn’t look like much when I hauled it in there, and I wondered if it would be worth the effort. I’m happy to say it was – the sales were fast and furious for a little more than an hour and by the end I only had a few items unsold and $120 in my pocket.

Until I the day we buy a house where we have room enough to have spaces dedicated to hobbies versus sleeping, I guess my bedroom will never be beautiful, but at least now I can walk across the room without tripping over something. For now that’s good enough.

My daughter’s tennis coach (my tennis coach!) recently announced that he’d signed my daughter up to participate in a local tournament at a nearby neighborhood club. My daughter is a cautious creature by nature – she likes to take her time to warm up to a new situation and scope things out before she jumps in – and she absolutely refused to do it.

I was disappointed by her reaction and told my mother about it. My mother in turn cautioned me not to push her too hard. She’d apparently seen some talk show (Dr. Phil?) about pushy sports parents, including the children who were complaining about how much they were pushed. One girl was an Olympic medal winning gymnast.

I know that pushy, super-competitive sports parents exist, and I have no doubt that some children suffer for it. I also know that there are children out there who participate in activities their parents choose for them, only to please their parents. I’ve seen them for myself. I do, however, have a hard time believing that many parents have succeeded in pushing a child so hard that the child won an Olympic medal against their will. If there are parents out there who can achieve that, then clearly I’m doing something wrong because I can’t even get my own children to pick up their socks or make their beds.

I talked to my daughter and encouraged her to give the tournament a try just for fun and experience, and in the end when she still refused, I let it go. If she’s going to be a successful athlete of any sort, clearly it’s going to be on her own terms.

Until I succumbed to the lure of taking tennis lessons myself, that is.

I did hold out a long time, though – I’ve been watching my children play for ten hours a week for nearly two years. I’ve tossed around the idea of taking lessons for a while but always decided against it because of back problems, shoulder problems, time. But when a friend of mine recently asked me if I’d take lessons with her, I immediately agreed. That was Wednesday morning and we had so much fun that we decided to do them two mornings a week.

I’m taking the lessons from my children’s coach and my biggest worry in the whole thing was that I’d be awful. My children are both so physically gifted that it is inevitable that he would likely expect more of the same and that I’d disappoint him. All I really wanted was not to look like a total spaz – either missing all the balls or hitting them out of the court. Happily, I didn’t miss many and all of my shots stayed within the walls of the court, if not the lines!

My children were with me for the first lesson, watching avidly. My daughter’s assessment? “You don’t suck!”

I was using my daughter’s racquet and wearing my sport sandals for the first lesson. Since I’m going to stick with it, I bought proper tennis shoes yesterday. Buying a racquet is slightly more complicated so I’m going to take more time with that. If you see a blonde playing bad tennis in blindingly white tennis shoes using a racquet with purple strings and a Sponge Bob vibration dampener, that’s me. Keep your eye on the ball because it might just come flying out of control in your direction…

I received this in email and the instructions said to pass it on to five women. I’m passing it on here because it’s a message worth broadcasting.

IN honor of women’s history month and in memory of Erma Bombeck who lost her fight with cancer.

Pass this on to five women that you want watched over.

If you don’t know five women to pass this on to, one will do just fine.

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER – by Erma Bombeck
(written after she found out she was dying from cancer).

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren’t there for the day.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the ‘good’ living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life..

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn’t show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I’d have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, ‘Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.’ There would have been more ‘I love you’s’ More ‘I’m sorry’s.’

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute, look at it and really see it . . Live it and never give it back. STOP SWEATING THE SMALL STUFF!!!

Don’t worry about who doesn’t like you, who has more, or who’s doing what.
Instead, let’s cherish the relationships we have with those who do love us.

If you don’t mind, send this on to all the women you are grateful to have as friends.

Maybe we should all grab that purple hat earlier.

A while back my husband decided to get us a 15″ cast iron skillet because he was suspicious of nonstick coatings – both fumes and also when they start to peel. I admit that I was somewhat reluctant to use the new pan for quite a while. I was used to the pans that I had been using and didn’t think we really needed such a large pan so it sat on a shelf collecting dust.

Since we moved to our new house, I’ve fallen totally in love with the pan. Why? It all started with French toast. I hadn’t had any French toast (eggy bread for my British/Aussie readers) in a very long time, mostly because I didn’t have a pan where it wouldn’t either stick terribly (aluminum skillet) or fail to brown properly (nonstick). The French toast did not stick to the cast iron pan, it browned perfectly, AND it’s large enough that I was able to make three pieces at a time. Hmmm…

Since then I’ve used it to make grilled cheese sandwiches, veggie burgers, quesadillas, fried potatoes, oven-baked sweet potato fries, sautee onions, and pancakes. Yes, it’s large and it’s heavy, but I know it’s not giving off any noxious fumes when I heat it up and you just have to love a pan that you are actively discouraged from washing! I just wipe out whatever bits are left behind, oil it up and it’s ready to go the next time. I’ve been using it so frequently that it now lives on my stovetop.

I used it the morning of my trip to make my new-to-me recipe for March: oat cakes. (Ha! I didn’t have to rely on the brownies after all!) I’ve tried making oat cakes before but they were always denser than I liked. I found this recipe on Mama Pea’s blog and since she used to run a restaurant I figured she ought to know what she’s doing. She does indeed – they were wonderful.

My next adventure with cast iron will involve seasoning the cast iron waffle maker I bought recently. I’ll be able to make waffles on my stovetop OR in the woods! An added bonus is that it is small enough to also serve as a weapon

My son was watching me make a baby quilt quite a while back and complained that I “never make him anything”. He was obviously exaggerating, but looked so sad that how could I not give in? So I started on a pattern I’d had for a quite a long time and just never gotten around to making.

In my hurry-scurry last week to take care of all the loose ends before my trip, I actually managed to finish the turtle quilt. Since I hand quilted it, I also got to watch nearly three seasons of House in the process. Win win

(click image to enlarge)

I love the colorful batik fish border fabric! I used the extra fabric to make him a matching pillow case.

If you look closely, you can see the fish shapes I stitched into the open spaces.

I am as pleased with this quilt as the little man is. It’s been a long time since I made such a pretty quilt and actually kept it!