In which Piers strategically retreats

I came to the end of my rope on Monday morning, just after The Mutt had decided to roll in something incredibly foul on her morning walk--which had meant that I had been compelled to stand out with her, the hose, and the doggie shampoo while she suffered through a bath.  I just realized that I couldn't keep it up any longer.

I've been trying to do too many things, and now it's time to let some of them go.  I'm not accustomed to making allowances for fatigue or weakness or whatever, but I didn't have a choice in this case.  So:  no more attempting to do research or writing for a few weeks.  Just my teaching, my books, my bike, and all the various requirements of the household (and there are plenty).  Nothing wrong with a little enjoyment.  At least that's what I tell myself--and that this isn't a matter of me not working hard enough.

"Kind" = ??

I was called "kind" the other day, and while I appreciated the sentiment, I also found myself having an inward dialogue about the worth of that kind of virtue.  Let's face it, "kind" is not something flashy or interesting.  It's not quite as bland as "nice," but it's in that direction.  The thing is, I try to be kind; I understand how important it is when life is so often painful and destructive to people. And if I actually exhibit that quality, isn't that a good thing?

I guess maybe I think it's common--that everyone does their best to be kind, so it's an unexceptional quality?  Or am I perhaps even more vain than that, wanting to have some ultra-significant and unique virtue that almost no one possesses?

What's more, maybe all this introspection is also a symptom of vanity.

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 35

Last night was the first game in Number One Son's little league baseball tournament.  Going into the bottom of the 6th inning, his team (the "Marlins," ugh) was ahead 12 to 10 against the "Yankees."  Alas, the Marlins did not manage to record a single out before the Yankees had scored the winning run.  Season over.

Once we got home (at 10:00!!!), Number One Son cried and cried.  He didn't cry because his team had lost, or because he hadn't gotten a hit.* He cried because baseball season is over and he can't play with his team any more.  I put him in my lap and let him cry about it, and told him yes, we would find a way to hang up his jersey and his hat so he could remember his first baseball team.  I told him I was proud of the way he learned to play the game this year, and of how good his attitude always was, and how glad I was he enjoyed it so much.  I was also proud that he just wants to play more.  I was never any good at baseball, so I don't have a lot personally invested in this game . . . but I'm awfully proud of the way he stuck with it so cheerfully all season.

*he made contact three times last night--all foul balls--but it was the closest to a hit he got all season.  Hard to catch up to a 40 mph machine-pitched baseball, especially with his skinny arms.

GSH Day One

Yesterday, a prime example of a student who is used to being hot stuff and who apparently thinks he can push around his teachers.  He came in with tons of attitude and tried being a smartass with me three or four different times.  I indulged him.  If he thinks to intimidate me, though, he's going to have to step up his game quite a bit.  For now, he gets the above response.