Tag Archives: dh

It’s Different

Walking into the scene shop to get started organizing yearbooks, my breath caught and I had to swallow tears. Usually opening the boxes is one of the most joyful moments of the year. There’s music and dancing and awe when the editors have the staff gather round for the unveiling.

The editors take the staff through page by page and tell them stories, and we laugh, even over the pages that made us cry.

And then the kids alphabetize the yearbook boxes, find their books and pour over the pages for an hour. After that we have our awards ceremony and eat.

Then it’s more organizing followed by the staff signing party.

Kids are in and out because they have tests or makeup work or projects to present. The room is constant activity. Constant music—sometimes I have to say “hey, language in the newsroom,” and we laugh and laugh and laugh.

Then we open the doors for early distribution and the signing party.

Sometimes there’s cake.

This year it’s me and DH, and it’s all task oriented. Do this, do that, get done.

Distribution starts Tuesday and runs 3 hours a day through Friday.

I have no idea what to expect.

I don’t have those feel-good moments of watching my editors open their books for the first time. I don’t have video of them going through page by page. I don’t have the happy to get me through the complaints that are simply part of the publication process.

Or the memories of the staff as they look trough their books. This year’s book is the biggest ever for CTHS at 255 pages. The staff would have loved that celebration.

I know I need to shift my mindset. To embrace the happy that happened. But this is hard.

I’m thankful to DH. For 21 years he’s offered to help with yearbooks. Today he got to do it!

I’m so proud of my editors who can’t be with me today but who worked SO HARD. They completed over 100 pages at home in a month on little laptops in quarantine. A parent emailed me in April to see if we were even going to have a yearbook since school closed and nothing happened. I was able to say “oh, no. We had a year and a lot happened. And the end looked different, but we still have a book. And the book even covers the end.” We have four spreads of National COVID coverage—thanks Walsworth— and two spreads of CTHS coverage done with help from all my classes. That’s a victory, a huge thing to be happy over!

I’m so thankful to my school and the support they’ve shown.

One more week.

It’s not the book we planned exactly, some pages had to be replaced, but it will always be the most memorable. And through the bad—thanks Coronavirus—there were some really great moments.

DH helping with yearbooks. ❤️💜💛

A Walk Down Memory Lane

DH moved into the old house in 1976. I moved in 1992.

We’ve spent the past few days over there working to get it ready to sell or maybe rent. It’s so weird how every empty room brings so many memories to life. Today I was scrubbing doorways and found a caution sticker stuck to a wall just high enough that DD must’ve put it there when she was around 9. She spent a lot of time with her nose in the corner back in those days. I figure she reached behind my desk and stuck it there.

And speaking of desks…I wrote my first books in that giant living room turned office of sorts. I woke DH up at 2 a.m. crying when I reached The End the first time. NOTHING I’ve done with writing beats that feeling.

I remember when we got Internet. One of my students worked for a company called Webfire, and he helped us set up AOL when we bought our first new computer, a Macintosh Performa. It’s so funny to remember trying to figure out email. It’s even funnier to remember DH calling me at work to tell me he’d broken the computer. It wouldn’t turn on. Back in those days computers cost a fortune. I ran to the office and everyone agreed it was urgent for me to go home, so they called a sub in and I drove like a crazy maniac to get to my panicked hubby. The dead computer wasn’t dead at all. It was asleep. One quick touch of the space bar and wa-lah.

It’s funny to remember the games of Risk and Phase 10 and poker and the number of Colorado Bulldogs and Dr Peppers and that time I decided to become a gourmet cook and DD and DH wrinkled up their noses and called for pizza. AND that time I caught the tostada shells on fire and then looked for them. AND that time DD blew on the rotel tomatoes before taking a bite because she thought that would cool them down.

I never loved that house. It never felt like mine. But now that we’re working to get rid of it, I’m sad. Not sad enough to move back, but sad all the same.



Why I’m not anti-Obamacare even though I know it won’t solve all the problems

LoveToday’s my husband’s birthday. He’s 49. He’s rarely sick. He’s self-employed. He pays taxes. He makes a good living.

Several years ago the cost of adding him to my insurance quadrupled, so he got his own insurance, which he uses rarely. Over time that policy continued to escalate in price so he upped the deductible. It’s now $10,000, and he pays thousands of dollars a year for that coverage just in case. He rarely uses the insurance for anything other than a yearly physical. In fact, in over a decade, he’s used it three times, two of those last year.

Before he upped the deductible, he had a kidney stone. We thought he was having a heart attack and called an ambulance. We were young and didn’t know better. I think it was over a decade ago, but time gets fuzzy. That was the only time he used the insurance for anything other than a physical until last year’s kidney stone episode. We knew what the problem was and went to the ER on our own. The ER nurse was awesome, kind and helpful. We saw the doctor for all of 30 seconds. He told us my husband had a kidney stone and walked out. We paid over $2000 for that ER visit. Over $1000 for the 30 second doctor’s diagnosis. The trip to the urologist was cheaper.

He’s had a kidney stone since then, but he chose to self-medicate and get through it on his own instead of going to the doctor.

In the last year he’s developed reflux. Last night that reflux turned into something awful. I looked up the symptoms online and have a pretty good idea of what’s wrong. We’re going to try diet changes first. If that doesn’t work he’ll have to break down and go to the doctor. And that trip to the doctor will break us even though he has insurance. Insurance he pays an arm and a leg for. Ridiculously expensive insurance that is still cheaper than putting him on my state teacher insurance policy.

I realize Obamacare isn’t the answer, but it’s at least an attempt to fix a problem that exists with our current system.

Happy Anniversary!

Me and DH. 18 years and going strong. Happily Ever After.

Me and DH. 18 years and going strong. Happily Ever After.

Dear Darling Husband,

I love you. I don’t know if you remember, but way back when we first started going out (for real, not that time we met in speech class), I was thinking maybe I’d just sell Mary Kay and go to school later. School was hard. I worked all the time. DD was a baby. Mary Kay made me happy. You became my you-can-do-it cheerleader.

When I started teaching, that was tough, too. And once again, you cheered me on.

Last year when I let negativity overwhelm me, you helped me reclaim my positive viewpoint. When I wanted to let ON come live with us, you didn’t even blink.

When I went on yet another diet, you went along with it no problem.

I can’t list all the times you’ve proven to be the best husband ever. It would take too long. Just know, I love you. You make me a better person. You make me laugh. You make me feel secure. Your hugs are the best ever, and you’re kisses…well, you know.

I love you.

18. That’s an awesome number.

Happy anniversary.



Even The Best Plans

I planned on writing from 8-10 tonight, but DD stopped by for one of the first times since she moved out and asked me to go get brownie mix with her.
Family first.
That’s new for me, which I realize is sad.
For years I worked in the newsroom, dragging DD with me, leaving DH out completely. Focused on one thing: success.
And I found success. I love my job. It was fun. But I pushed my family to the side so often it’s crazy.
I can’t get that time back, but I can make the time I have now better.
Lesson learned: I had time to write earlier, but I knew I was going to write from 8-10, so I didn’t take advantage of it. Mistake!
I did get the writing in. But it’s 11 now, and I have no idea how I used to stay up until 1 and 2 a.m.
I’m falling asleep at the keyboard!

Happy Birthday?

DD threw a surprise birthday party for DH this week.
It was surprise to me too.
I think it was a surprise to her. She’s spontaneous like that.
She let me know about it at 4:30. I was at school. On deadline.
The party started at 6:00. At my house. After I’ve been gone on vacation. On the day DH cam home from vacation.
Can’t get upset with the surprise birthday party, but next time, she get the house ready too!
I don’t have photos. Trust me, the house was a mess.
But the company was awesome.

I wanna run away

Alaska would be nice.
I told dh. He just laughed at me.


Last night I thought I was getting picked up to go caroling. I’d just returned home with DH after a long night of church, Christmas parties and a hockey game and it would’ve been easy to just forget about the rest of the night. But I have this group of friends from work who depend on me and my smiles. 🙂
They’re amazing really. Strong women who help keep me sane on days I’m not sure that’s possible. They tease me, call me PollyAnna because I try to put a positive spin on life, even when it pretty much sucks. But like I always tell them “Iran has nuclear weapons. We’re going to die. Might as well make the most of it while we’re here.” 🙂
So when Dh and I made it home I grabbed my tennis shoes, called my friends and decided what the heck, I love caroling? Tired wasn’t reason enough not to go.
Ten minutes later a stretch limo pulled up. Nope we didn’t go out singing in the cold. We went dancing. Just the girls. I can’t remember the last time I went dancing with friends, but I think I’m going to make it a part of life. I needed that and so did they. I get so caught up in family and writing and the job I forget sometimes to go live. Thank God for friends who help me remember.


40 teenagers, the Big D, and a weekend.
I’m exhausted, but it was fun.

And productive.
I edited the first third of my Intrigue. I decided to let it go even though I wasn’t quite pleased with it. Then in church the answer to my problem just suddenly appeared. Not sure why, but I’ll take it.

Church was FREEZING this morning, so it’s coffee here I come.
Maybe, just maybe, I can keep from telling DH off for telling me I need to spend less time writing over the next two and half years until DD graduates.
WHAT?! Exactly what lesson will that teach my daughter? That mom’s dreams mean nothing? That goals are unattainable? That her father can’t make supper?
He has no idea. None.
I wonder if the pound of bologna I’m buying to day at the grocery store today will help him understand? 🙂

Added 30 July 2014

****I’m going back and tagging these entries, and this is the worst one I’ve read. How desperately I wish I could go back and tell my younger self DH was right. Family first. You don’t get time back. The writing will still be there.

I finally get it

I finally get it.
For months I’ve tried to figure out why I can lose weight or write lots but not at the same time. It made no sense to me until the ah-ha moment tonight.
I have absolutely no problem leaving my family alone at night to go work out at the Y.
BUT when I add writing to the mix I end up eating. Lots. Mostly chocolate.
I’m suffering major Mom Guilt (Wife Guilt…). The big MG.
I don’t know.
Something about the time spent.
Which makes no sense because honestly when I do get the call that’s going to teach my daughter something HUGELY important about dreams and my DH something just as important about risk and persistence.
When I lost 50 pounds it taught them both the necessity of eating right and exercise.
Together, all those things create amazing people.
Now if I can just get that message firmly implanted in my brain before I gain the 50 pounds back.
Because not writing isn’t an option. And the guilt needs to skaddaddle. I don’t have time for it.