I was in a funk today. I'm still teetering on the fringes of that funk, but I guess that means I've arrived. Things aren't all shiny and new, pretenses have dissolved. I'm feeling authentic things I'm meant to feel because, teaching and parenting and living in the world is sometimes sunshine and lollipops but it's also half-eaten gummi bear vitamins stuck to the bottom of your shoe, isn't it? The window of being the new kid is quickly closing and the grace period of not having my stuff together is on the wane. I remember a friend of mine writing that post 9/11, everyone in New York was just being way too polite and sensitive, and that she was actually happy once people got back to their cranky selves on the subway commute because she got her old NYC back.

While nobody terrorized me this morning, things didn't go as planned in my design class and I felt super bummed about it. The very sweet teaching assistant e-mailed me and said that she really enjoyed class and that I was doing a good job. She must have been in someone else's design class by mistake because the one I taught this morning was a disaster like something fierce. The lasso tool in Adobe Illustrator was totally conspiring against me and making a liar out of me right in my own classroom in front of students on a big projected screen. Economy size can of urrgh is what I was projecting, that's what.

Oh, but then? We had a convocation with an embedded journalist who had spent his summer with a crew of Marines in Afghanistan. Summer. In Afghanistan. Can you say put an umbrella in my drink??? F-U-N. No.

I lifted the body armor of the journalist and it weighed far FAR more than Little Man. And I cannot carry Little Man across the dog food aisle without huffing and puffing because boyfriend be heaveh.

That really put into perspective for me what the men and women fighting overseas experience. They experience, at the minimum, having to wear a body armor greater than Little Man's bodyweight in order to defend our freedoms.

I cannot say that perspective snapped me right out of my funk, but I am certainly grateful for moments and feelings and people and body armors that are so real that they remind you that you are alive and that this life ain't all that bad. Sometimes it just seems that way.

*** Sometimes when I'm in a funk, I look at old pictures. Like reaching into a pocket of cheer.

This day a year ago: