Although I would say Mondays in general lend themselves to this feeling, yesterday was an especially “think I can” day.
My first thought upon exiting the apartment yesterday morning?
Sadly, my car thermometer informed me that it was actually 62 degrees outside and that my inner temperature regulation has been entirely thrown off by living in Texas. 60 is the new “crisp.”
This was followed by the apparently subconscious thought that “I think I can survive the day without coffee,” which was quickly remedied as I ran back upstairs to get my mug.
[I mean about the spilling. I didn't sit in a high chair while eating.]
[Don't worry, I won't. Or at least if I do...I won't show you. All the time, anyway.]
crisp, Romaine lettuce with squash, zucchini, carrots, red peppers
cottage cheese + two types of local, Austin-made Out to Lunch hummus (sun-dried tomato chipotle and spinach-and-artichoke)sweet, juicy grapes!
“flatbread” made from the extra multigrain bread dough that they had tried to pass off as pizza dough this weekend when I stopped by Central Market–lame of them, but bonus delicious breadness for me!
I think I can make hole-y bread. I cannot make it holy.
“I think I can bring small amounts of happiness into the lives of my students.”
Despite working in a very well-known and respected district, my school’s population consists of a majority percentage of low-income families. I am constantly reminded of the different worldview in unexpected ways, such as the girl today who witness a drug bust in the adjoining duplex over the weekend, or the boy whose dad has left to find work in Florida and won’t see him until the summer. I can’t do anything about that, but I can bring them these:
See, we are reading The Boxcar Children, and there is a whole scene in which the kids go blueberry picking. We were talking, and all of a sudden I realized that they’d never eaten a blueberry, so they had no connection to what I was saying. I went after school to go buy some, but, unfortunately, the store didn’t have any! But I think I can lead in to their berry education with raspberries instead.
I’m a little redheaded engine that could. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
Do you like the orange yarn-like hair? Because according to a small child I tutored once, “I think it’s weird that redheads are called redheads. Your hair is orange.”