Good Morning, Sweet Valentine!

Firstly, I want to make it clear that this is in no way an anti Valentine’s Day post, or rant, or therapy session, that oh, poor me, I’m single on Valentine’s Day. It’s not going to be like that at all. Because I actually think Valentine’s Day is a very sweet thing and is a day when you have an excuse to give your sweetie a little extra love and to say “hey, I like having you around.”
And if you don’t have a Valentine this year you can always do what I did this weekend, which includes going out to dinner with your Dad (thanks Dad!) and bringing your 97 year old grandmother roses and chocolate. This morning I also decided to make myself a special Valentine’s Day breakfast, which included milky coffee in my favorite Italian teacup, and baked oatmeal with peaches. I also got up to speed on the last three Savage Love podcasts, which ended up being another perfect idea because dang, relationships have problems.
In other non Valentine’s Day related news: That previously mentioned lesson I had to give this week in front of the principal for that job I want? It was not my most glorious teaching moment. I was nervous and I had to teach grammar, so I’ll let you envision how that played out in your own minds. Yes, it got a little hairy- and because of this they want me to come back and teach another lesson.
It’s not great news, but it’s also not bad news. But it does feel strange because Friday morning going into it I had mentally prepared myself for either a “yes” or a “no.” So when they said “come back and try again,” I couldn’t help but think “whaaaaaa???”
It’s been a weird thing to process the last couple of days, and it has reminded me of when I was in elementary school and someone would screw something up and instead of accepting the mistake or failure they would yell “do over!” and then be allowed to try it again.
A “do over” could be declared over anything, anytime. It could be after muddling up your lines while rehearsing for the class play, or during a game of kickball at recess after you unexpectedly give the ball a particularly wimpy kick. “Do over!” someone would yell, “DOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OVVVEEEEEEEEEER!”
There was also nothing shameful about calling for a do over. On the contrary, do overs were demanded with authority and force, and often were non-negotiable.
I suppose this is the attitude I have adopted for the next couple weeks. But first I get to relax a little and enjoy a short trip to Texas, where I will spend several days hanging in Austin with two good friends, and then hiking in the hills of Western Texas, like a cowgirl.