2016 Retrospective
I get it. As far as humanity and America goes, 2016 was a shit year. Oh, and a lot of celebrities died, but Alan Rickman was the only one where I told my boss I needed to take bereavement leave to go home and watch Sense and Sensibility--but apparently the employee handbook doesn't offer bereavement leave for celebrity deaths. Pity.
But seriously. Globally? Terrorist attacks. SYRIA. Russia being an asshole.
And domestically? Yeah, my beloved nation collectively elected an effing MONSTER to the presidency. Don't even get me started, because I won't be able to stop.
So, yes. A shit year. In the grand scheme of things.
But personally? Um, I actually had an okay year. The Big Event of Happy was, of course, welcoming our baby nephew to earth. He is pure goodness and joy. And a big part of 2016. We had three family vacations this past year--three!--to Reno, the beach in North Carolina, and Seattle. Charlotte thrived in kindergarten and then first grade. Lorelei finally became potty trained. Both girls are healthy. Neither car crapped out. Nothing major in the house broke. The dog continued to live. My work went fine, with its own hiccups but nothing that couldn't be tackled. My performance review told me to stop feeling professionally insecure, and Chris was (so!) busy but perfectly content at work. No stomach viruses crossed our threshold. (I just guaranteed one for January by typing that. I know it.)
There were bumps, of course. Our parents' health was worrisome. We had some doozies of, um, disagreements. We were overstressed at times, overcommitted at times. The kids were little shits at times, we were shitty parents at times.
But all in all? A pretty decent year.
What do we hope for in 2017? Ha. Like I can control the future. But I'd like to see my current manuscript not only be completed but also seriously revised, which is about as painstaking (for me) as actual writing. I'm a perfectionist, which is the worst-ever thing for a wannabe writer. I'm an editor by trade, people. I know when it sucks. And continuing past the thisissuckingthisissuckingthisissucking chant in your head is . . . challenging. Having little people constantly, constantly, CONSTANTLY cry (whine) out "Mommy! Mommy!" doesn't help. I can literally get interrupted by my children 5 or 6 times during the course of writing a single sentence. Once they're out of my hair, the phone inevitably rings. I recently told someone that my theory on why there are so few (good) novels that decently capture modern motherhood is that those who are in the midst of it can't get a f**king word in. So they (we) blog and write trite crap for Huffington Post.
Anyway.
Other than that, my 2017 resolution is to survive our schedule. I mean that totally sincerely. I love my work schedule, but I loathe our family schedule. Possibly because I'm responsible for 95% of it. (Guess what the doozies of disagreements are about.)
So, to be honest, I greeted 2017 with a bit of a whoop-dee-doo attitude. Another year of overscheduled madness. Of always feeling behind. This new year? Oh, I suspect it will be the same. It will pass lightning fast, a blur of people asking for volunteers for pointless crap (seriously, stop the fundraising--JUST LET US WRITE CHECKS), us not traveling anywhere that requires a passport, going to work, making dinners that nobody likes. Forgetting to wash a leotard or putting something wrongly into the dryer or refusing to heat the dinner plates because LET'S JUST EAT ALREADY.
How then, really, to approach 2017? I guess I should ditch my attitude of MEH about 2017, but I'm me. I'm half Opp. We're not a perky, positive people.
But I am Ashley, and Ashley lives and dies by her to-do lists. Oooh! Let's make one!
Now for a book check-in. During 2016, I read 68 books--two books less than my 70 books in 2015. So I guess I was pretty consistent.
All sorts of stuff was read since we last talked books, oh dear readers. I won't detail all of them--just some highlights. Lorelei took a fancy to the "[fill in the blank] Love Underpants books"--pirates, monsters, etc. I gave her the dinosaur one for Christmas. And we continue, of course, to periodically read Dragons Love Tacos. Because it's just her favorite.
Charlotte's chapter book, recently finished, was Roald Dahl's Matilda. I, of course, read it as a child and was excited to share it with my girl. Well, she LOVED it. And so did Chris. He ended up reading so much of it to her (while I read to Lorelei) that I'd sneak in later and read whatever chapter they finished, so I'd be caught up when it was my turn to read to her. People. Chris REALLY loved Matilda. It was quite endearing, actually.
Charlotte begged to start Dahl's The Witches next, so my plan for spreading out the Dahl stories across her childhood failed. No matter.
She is also reading Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, a second chapter book, to herself. Insistently to herself. Literary helicopter mom that I am, I'm reading behind her to sort of check that she's understanding what she's reading. This book is a bit of a stretch for her to independently read, but hey, she may very well be ready and I don't want to get in her way. But I do want to get a sense of where her reading comprehension is.
Me, I recently finished Liane Moriarty's Three Wishes, a novel about a set of triplets in their thirties, which was funny and great. I love Moriarty's writing style. I also read Anne Tyler's A Spool of Blue Thread, which of course (because it's Tyler) captured the layered complexities of day-to-day family life, but I found it . . . a bit dull after a couple hundred pages. I was glad to reach the end. Chris Bohjalian's Secrets of Eden was mostly entertaining, but the last quarter of the book needlessly dragged out.
Currently, I'm reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, which is basically about the torture that is writing. It's fantastic. I'm also reading Charlotte and Emily, a novel about the Brontes, and it is--so far--amazing. I love it. I also started The Lesser Bohemians, which is a challenging but gratifying read about an 18-year-old theater student in London. It has mixed-up word order and is written in a stream-of-consciousness, impressionistic style that brinks on poetry. It's slow going but incredible.
And it's snowing now. That's nice.
But seriously. Globally? Terrorist attacks. SYRIA. Russia being an asshole.
And domestically? Yeah, my beloved nation collectively elected an effing MONSTER to the presidency. Don't even get me started, because I won't be able to stop.
So, yes. A shit year. In the grand scheme of things.
But personally? Um, I actually had an okay year. The Big Event of Happy was, of course, welcoming our baby nephew to earth. He is pure goodness and joy. And a big part of 2016. We had three family vacations this past year--three!--to Reno, the beach in North Carolina, and Seattle. Charlotte thrived in kindergarten and then first grade. Lorelei finally became potty trained. Both girls are healthy. Neither car crapped out. Nothing major in the house broke. The dog continued to live. My work went fine, with its own hiccups but nothing that couldn't be tackled. My performance review told me to stop feeling professionally insecure, and Chris was (so!) busy but perfectly content at work. No stomach viruses crossed our threshold. (I just guaranteed one for January by typing that. I know it.)
There were bumps, of course. Our parents' health was worrisome. We had some doozies of, um, disagreements. We were overstressed at times, overcommitted at times. The kids were little shits at times, we were shitty parents at times.
But all in all? A pretty decent year.
What do we hope for in 2017? Ha. Like I can control the future. But I'd like to see my current manuscript not only be completed but also seriously revised, which is about as painstaking (for me) as actual writing. I'm a perfectionist, which is the worst-ever thing for a wannabe writer. I'm an editor by trade, people. I know when it sucks. And continuing past the thisissuckingthisissuckingthisissucking chant in your head is . . . challenging. Having little people constantly, constantly, CONSTANTLY cry (whine) out "Mommy! Mommy!" doesn't help. I can literally get interrupted by my children 5 or 6 times during the course of writing a single sentence. Once they're out of my hair, the phone inevitably rings. I recently told someone that my theory on why there are so few (good) novels that decently capture modern motherhood is that those who are in the midst of it can't get a f**king word in. So they (we) blog and write trite crap for Huffington Post.
Anyway.
Other than that, my 2017 resolution is to survive our schedule. I mean that totally sincerely. I love my work schedule, but I loathe our family schedule. Possibly because I'm responsible for 95% of it. (Guess what the doozies of disagreements are about.)
So, to be honest, I greeted 2017 with a bit of a whoop-dee-doo attitude. Another year of overscheduled madness. Of always feeling behind. This new year? Oh, I suspect it will be the same. It will pass lightning fast, a blur of people asking for volunteers for pointless crap (seriously, stop the fundraising--JUST LET US WRITE CHECKS), us not traveling anywhere that requires a passport, going to work, making dinners that nobody likes. Forgetting to wash a leotard or putting something wrongly into the dryer or refusing to heat the dinner plates because LET'S JUST EAT ALREADY.
How then, really, to approach 2017? I guess I should ditch my attitude of MEH about 2017, but I'm me. I'm half Opp. We're not a perky, positive people.
But I am Ashley, and Ashley lives and dies by her to-do lists. Oooh! Let's make one!
- Find something to TRIM from our schedule. Anything.
- Add NOTHING to our schedule. Nothing.
- Charlotte: Foster her internal motivation. Surely this would save time nagging.
- Lorelei: Decide on kindergarten enrollment challenge (she's an early October baby--we have kindergarten hoops to jump through). Jump through the hoops (or not) and let the district decide. Try not to give too big of a hoot.
- Manuscript: Finish. Revise.
So there you have it. Not the most ambitious goals, but actually, the scheduling one might prove revolutionary.
Now for a book check-in. During 2016, I read 68 books--two books less than my 70 books in 2015. So I guess I was pretty consistent.
All sorts of stuff was read since we last talked books, oh dear readers. I won't detail all of them--just some highlights. Lorelei took a fancy to the "[fill in the blank] Love Underpants books"--pirates, monsters, etc. I gave her the dinosaur one for Christmas. And we continue, of course, to periodically read Dragons Love Tacos. Because it's just her favorite.
Charlotte's chapter book, recently finished, was Roald Dahl's Matilda. I, of course, read it as a child and was excited to share it with my girl. Well, she LOVED it. And so did Chris. He ended up reading so much of it to her (while I read to Lorelei) that I'd sneak in later and read whatever chapter they finished, so I'd be caught up when it was my turn to read to her. People. Chris REALLY loved Matilda. It was quite endearing, actually.
Charlotte begged to start Dahl's The Witches next, so my plan for spreading out the Dahl stories across her childhood failed. No matter.
She is also reading Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, a second chapter book, to herself. Insistently to herself. Literary helicopter mom that I am, I'm reading behind her to sort of check that she's understanding what she's reading. This book is a bit of a stretch for her to independently read, but hey, she may very well be ready and I don't want to get in her way. But I do want to get a sense of where her reading comprehension is.
Me, I recently finished Liane Moriarty's Three Wishes, a novel about a set of triplets in their thirties, which was funny and great. I love Moriarty's writing style. I also read Anne Tyler's A Spool of Blue Thread, which of course (because it's Tyler) captured the layered complexities of day-to-day family life, but I found it . . . a bit dull after a couple hundred pages. I was glad to reach the end. Chris Bohjalian's Secrets of Eden was mostly entertaining, but the last quarter of the book needlessly dragged out.
Currently, I'm reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, which is basically about the torture that is writing. It's fantastic. I'm also reading Charlotte and Emily, a novel about the Brontes, and it is--so far--amazing. I love it. I also started The Lesser Bohemians, which is a challenging but gratifying read about an 18-year-old theater student in London. It has mixed-up word order and is written in a stream-of-consciousness, impressionistic style that brinks on poetry. It's slow going but incredible.
And it's snowing now. That's nice.
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