Emotional Energy

Every once in a while I have to step back and ask myself if a situation is really worth all the extra attention that I am giving it. And almost every time, the answer is very definitely “no.”

So the real question is, “What DOES deserve my emotional energy?”

Truly, the answer to this one is easy, too. Well, answerS.

My family.
My home.
My quilting and scrapbooks.
My students.
My spiritual side.

Not all this extraneous stuff. I think it’s time for me to pull back a little bit and focus on the things that really matter to me — the things that SHOULD matter to me. Because, with the exception perhaps of my quilting, I haven’t been focusing enough emotional energy on those things.

Photos to come… I’ve been making quilt tops like a madwoman. 🙂
And I did my first scrapbook page in months for our family album last night.
And this afternoon, I’m taking Helen to get new tennis shoes and new ballet shoes, because she has outgrown both…. again.
Alice and I had a fun visit in the car on the way to Nannie’s house today, discussing rattlesnakes.
One of my students sent me a very happy text message about her performance on a test this morning, and I did a little happy dance in my car when I got it. 🙂
I’ve been better about cooking lately, but MUCH worse about cleaning up… Need to find a balance there.
And, as always, my spiritual life is not something I feel the need to post about, so I won’t.

What should you be focusing on?

Question of the Day

“Mommy, why did a white guy kill Martin Luther King, Jr.?”


“A white guy?”

“Yeah. A white guy. Like us.”

[pause, while Mommy decides how to respond to this one. Background: we have been listening to the soundtrack to “Wicked” in the car a LOT, and Helen is very concerned with the fact that people in Oz are terrified of Elphaba just because she’s green.]

“Well, Helen, even though we’re all the same INSIDE, some people think that they’re better just because their skin is a different color. You know, like how people in Oz think they’re better than Elphaba because she’s green. They’re afraid of her because she’s different and she’s strong.”


“So, when Mr. King was alive, he had lots of people that loved him very, very much. They loved what he said, and how he made them feel. And some people were afraid of him because of that. And some people thought that they were better than him because he was black and they were white. And unfortunately, one of those terrible people had a gun.”

“That makes me sad.”

“Me too, Helen.”

I lightened up the end of the conversation by telling Helen that she could be purple and she’d still be my Helen inside, and I’d love her every bit as much. The color on the outside doesn’t tell you ANYthing about the character on the inside.

“I’d rather be pink.”

“Of course you would.”

Sometimes I really hate this world, and the fact that I have to let my sweet, innocent little princess-obsessed girl grow up in it and learn that not everyone is nice.


Weird thing, depression.

Sometimes, it can be a huge source of motivation for me — I will be active and creative to numb myself and just busybusybusy. That was last week.

Other times, I’m a worthless waste of oxygen, because I get NOTHING done. That’s this week.

What are the 7 stages of grief again?


I’ll be OK, I know it. I’ll be sad for a long time, I know that, too. But it’s just tough to sit here at the bottom of the pit and wonder when I’ll get to see the sun again. I know it’s up there. I want to climb out of the pit. But finding the internal strength to DO it is just outside my capacity at the moment. I hate that.

Hopefully next week will be a manic creative week again. I’m bored. I prefer the mania-to-numb-myself to the complete lack of ambition that I’m afflicted by currently.


Helen is a close talker. Well, kinda. Not really. She just likes to lean on me when she wants something. And hold her face really close to mine, I guess so I don’t forget she’s there. I hate it when things are close to my face. Lifetime pet peeve. Linus gets all up in my face, too. So does Emily, the calico.

And Alice likes to show me her treasures, which she holds less than an inch from my nose so I get the best view. Of blurry.

Why do they do that!?






Stand over there. Good.