May 18, 2011
Story #2 - Thank You Note
Dear Grandma,
Well, my mom said that I had to write a thank you card to you for giving me that sweater, even though I told you thank you in person. So thank you once again. The yellow is going to go great with my jaundice eyes! Also, I love cookies. The idea to use sugar cubes in them was an interesting choice. Wow! I'm not really sure how to feel about it, to be honest. My first inclination was loathing, but that quickly turned to something akin to wonder. But I thought, either way, you should know that the mittens made my hands break out. I"m not holding you legally responsible, although I'm forwarding my attorney's address to you, just in case. Well, thanks again. I'm glad you came to my party. You really brought the house down!
Love,
Jared
Well, my mom said that I had to write a thank you card to you for giving me that sweater, even though I told you thank you in person. So thank you once again. The yellow is going to go great with my jaundice eyes! Also, I love cookies. The idea to use sugar cubes in them was an interesting choice. Wow! I'm not really sure how to feel about it, to be honest. My first inclination was loathing, but that quickly turned to something akin to wonder. But I thought, either way, you should know that the mittens made my hands break out. I"m not holding you legally responsible, although I'm forwarding my attorney's address to you, just in case. Well, thanks again. I'm glad you came to my party. You really brought the house down!
Love,
Jared
May 17, 2011
Story #1 - Journal Entry
One of my favorite games to play with my family is one we call "The Story Game." It goes like this:
Everyone gets a sheet of paper and something to write with and sits in a circle. Then everyone starts writing a story. Any old story they want. You write a few lines then fold the paper over so that only the last line is showing, and then everyone passes their paper to the left. (or the right. The direction of passing doesn't actually matter.) Now everyone has a new paper and a new story. And so you add on to the story on the page in front of you, based on just that one line of writing they left for you to see.
Got it?
Maybe everyone plays this game. Maybe everyone calls it The Story Game. I don't know. I don't really talk to anyone else. Anyhoo, we played it last night. And usually we are just writing whatever story comes to mind, or sometimes poems, but last night we had themes. And if you haven't realized by this point, I am about to subject you to some of these stories whether you like it or not. Because they make me laugh. Actually, they amuse me so much that I am going to post all 8 of them and make you read one every single day. Ha ha! It makes me feel so powerful! There is nothing you can do to stop me!!!
And for fun's sake, I am going to change the color of the font to signify a change in writer. Pretty fancy huh? Here we go (oh, and I should probably state beforehand, that yes, Jared kind of plays a big part in these stories, but since we don't actually know a Jared, I'm assuming he won't care.):
Dear Journal,
It has been 1 year since my last entry. So much has happened. Christmas. . . that was great. Scruffy, my dog, DIED. . . that sucked! But anyway, this journal entry is about ♥Jared♥.
Yesterday during lunch I was eating my pizza and ranch when I turned around Jared was RIGHT THERE. I didn't even know he was there, but when I turned around, there he was. AND THEN he said "Hey." and walked off. AAAH!!!! I'm pretty sure I almost died. Good thing I was wearing my favorite pair of running shoes and my diamond tiara in case there was a princess contest nearby. I usually win those. As you know, I'm not actually a princess but I have that princess demeanor that is a real plus in those contests. I don't like to compete though. It makes people feel bad. I know that I am not supposed to care but my beauty really does raise the bar for the rest of the country. Anyway, back to Jared. . . he is not cute enough for me.
Love,
Me!
Everyone gets a sheet of paper and something to write with and sits in a circle. Then everyone starts writing a story. Any old story they want. You write a few lines then fold the paper over so that only the last line is showing, and then everyone passes their paper to the left. (or the right. The direction of passing doesn't actually matter.) Now everyone has a new paper and a new story. And so you add on to the story on the page in front of you, based on just that one line of writing they left for you to see.
Got it?
Maybe everyone plays this game. Maybe everyone calls it The Story Game. I don't know. I don't really talk to anyone else. Anyhoo, we played it last night. And usually we are just writing whatever story comes to mind, or sometimes poems, but last night we had themes. And if you haven't realized by this point, I am about to subject you to some of these stories whether you like it or not. Because they make me laugh. Actually, they amuse me so much that I am going to post all 8 of them and make you read one every single day. Ha ha! It makes me feel so powerful! There is nothing you can do to stop me!!!
And for fun's sake, I am going to change the color of the font to signify a change in writer. Pretty fancy huh? Here we go (oh, and I should probably state beforehand, that yes, Jared kind of plays a big part in these stories, but since we don't actually know a Jared, I'm assuming he won't care.):
Dear Journal,
It has been 1 year since my last entry. So much has happened. Christmas. . . that was great. Scruffy, my dog, DIED. . . that sucked! But anyway, this journal entry is about ♥Jared♥.
Yesterday during lunch I was eating my pizza and ranch when I turned around Jared was RIGHT THERE. I didn't even know he was there, but when I turned around, there he was. AND THEN he said "Hey." and walked off. AAAH!!!! I'm pretty sure I almost died. Good thing I was wearing my favorite pair of running shoes and my diamond tiara in case there was a princess contest nearby. I usually win those. As you know, I'm not actually a princess but I have that princess demeanor that is a real plus in those contests. I don't like to compete though. It makes people feel bad. I know that I am not supposed to care but my beauty really does raise the bar for the rest of the country. Anyway, back to Jared. . . he is not cute enough for me.
Love,
Me!
May 16, 2011
To Love and Lose a Lizard: In which I blather on and on and then turn strangely serious.
Tragedy struck the home of one Utah family tonight with the 2nd loss of a beloved pet.
Well, maybe not beloved. I certainly didn't belove it. But Richard and Harrison went camping on Friday night and when they got home on Saturday Harrison walked into the house sporting a GIANT grin and carrying a very tiny lizard. Cute, for a lizard, but I couldn't get quite as excited as he was. Oh, he loved it. He named it Chris. We made a little home for it in a jar, but all Harrison wanted to do was hold it. All the time. Which made me nervous because I didn't want him to lose it somewhere in the house. I may have all kinds of critters living in my nooks and crannies, but I don't care for the idea of a lizard setting up shop under my settee.
So, about an hour later, Harrison told me that he lost his friend. He "walk, walk, walked outside and, gasp! It was gone". I was just glad it was outside. We tried to tell him that Chris was now happily living it up in the back yard, but Harrison was convinced that a hornet got him. He was very upset and kept insisting that we find him. We mostly distracted him, but he never really let it go. Aw.
Yesterday we went to my parent's house and, as per the norm, Harrison was walked along the piano keys and looking at the small Christus my mom has on her piano. I ran over to tell him to stop before he broke something but before I got there he gave the statue a very gentle hug.
I went and picked him up and said, "Do you know who that is a statue of?" He said "Yes. Me ask Jesus to bring my lizard back." We all gave a very sympathetic "Ohh!" and Harrison told everyone about how he found a lizard when they went camping and then it got lost. Very heart wrenching.
But guess who Harrison and I saw today? CHRIS, running across the floor in the office! We both yelled and dove for him. There were plenty of toys for him to hide behind and under as he ran for it but I eventually trapped him under a hard hat. I didn't want to touch him, so I slid this pumpkin coloring book under the hat and flipped the whole thing over and dumped it into an empty bin. But there was nothing there. He wasn't in the hat and he wasn't in the bin and we couldn't see him anywhere on the floor. I worried that Harrison's heart would be broken all over again cuz he had been SO HAPPY to see him only to have his hopes dashed. I kept asking if he was ok and he said yes. I guess most of childhood is full of such ecstatic expectations and heart breaking disappointments. He is probably used to it. And NOW I had a little lizard running amuck through my office!
So (yes, I'm STILL talking about this) I told Richard about it when he got home. He went into the office and came back holding a rather flat and very dead little lizard. Darn it. I'm not sure just how it happened, but we managed to smash him instead of grab him. So we showed Harrison. We almost flushed him down the toilet without saying anything to him, but I decided to just tell him. He wasn't as upset as I thought he would be. Still just wanted to keep holding him and holding him. So we told him he needed to bury Chris the Lizard in the backyard. He seemed kind of excited about that so his dad went out and dug a little hole and they took care of business. In lieu of a eulogy, Harrison said "Bye Chris. Sorry we mooshed you."
Then he came in saying "Two guys got buried. Chris and Boo." Ok, prepare yourself, cuz it is about to get depressing in here.
Boo is his Grandpa, my father-in-law, Robin, who died just a few months ago. And Harrison had a hard time with it. (We ALL did, but I guess that goes without saying.) I didn't expect that I would have to teach him about death when he is so young. The day after it happened Harrison and I were driving home and talking about it and I was telling Harrison that eventually everyone dies, and their spirits go up to heaven to be with Heavenly Father and their bodies go into the ground to keep them safe, and it is OK. And he angrily said, "It NOT ok! It SAD!"
Well, yeah. It is.
And I was worried about telling him his lizard died because of his Grandpa. I know it was just a lizard that he had for about 4 hours, but still.
Cuz when someone dies, it is not just their death you deal with. It is the death of everyone you have lost before, and the death of those you have yet to lose. It is your own mortality, staring you right in the face. It is the loss and pain of all those around you. And you think you will never get over it.
But Harrison seemed to be ok with his lizard's funeral. He still says he wants Boo to come back alive whenever he sees his Grandpa's picture, but the pain of it is not what it once was. (Though I cannot write a post in his honor, or tell you the details or really talk about it in any more specifics than this. I just can't.)
I've had a horrible time at funerals ever since my little sister Gaea died, though of course the old wounds don't hurt like they used to, like they are still supposed to. Even Robin's funeral wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Not for his sake but for hers. Certainly not as hard as I thought it should be. There are some things we should never get over, you know? But we do. Curse you, Time. You heal even those wounds we don't want you to heal.
May 14, 2011
The Grass is Always Greener When it is Actually Grass
I mowed the lawn today. Or, rather, I mowed the breeding ground for weeds and misery that is conveniently located right outside my front door. I think everyone should have such a breeding ground within walking distance. But the city made me cut mine! I got a letter from the Police Department saying that: my yard was an eyesore, I'm a lousy landscaper, and am probably bad at math. And if I don't do something about the above problems within one week, they will send their rabid secretaries after me.
I personally think that mowing the lawn should be the man's job. Because I like to only do things that showcase and emphasize my feminity, and lawn-mowing does not do that. Even mowing in 5 inch heels didn't help. It just made me feel stupid. But the fact is Richard has enough other things to do on Saturdays, and here I was with a gorgeous day. Why not?
First though, I had to get the lawnmower started. And I did NOT want to be starting it out in the front yard where my neighbors and random kids on bicycles could see me. I can't think of anything more embarrassing than the convulsions I have to go through to get the mower started the first time. Except maybe square dancing. So I pushed the mower all the way around behind the house and by some miracle, and after putting gas into it, I actually got it started.
So I pushed it back around and got to work. Though I honestly don't know what the city was making such a big deal about. I really don't think it had gotten all that tall.
Harrison, meanwhile, was furious. Apparently the weeds are his friends. He kept telling me to put them back, leave his guys alone, and shaking his fists at me. I just kept mowing though. I take letters from the police department very seriously. But it was no day at the beach, believe me. Our weeds are so juicy that the lawnmower stopped about every 3 minutes because the place where the cuttings shoot out was so clogged the blade couldn't spin any more. The weeds just piled up in there like Orc bodies at the gates of Minas Tirith.
My front yard is not that big, but after a couple of hours I was getting pretty tired. And the lawnmower just kept quitting every 3 to 5 minutes and I started telling myself that as soon as I couldn't get it to start back up on the first try I was just going to stop for the day. So, of course, it started right up, every single time, though I could barely summon the energy to pull the string at all. Even my sissy little girl pulls were enough to start it up. Pretty darn good little yard-sale lawn mower. I mean, it was smoking pretty seriously by the end, but I made it. I cut the whole thing. And I looked a little like a sea monster, I was so covered with green. And my high heels were totally ruined.
So now comes the one month stretch of summer where my yard almost looks like grass. And the nice thing about weeds is that we probably won't have to cut them again this year. I'm really surprised more people don't go this route. Even if you can't walk on it in your bare feet.
So, Good-bye weeds. You will me missed, but not by me.
Don't worry. There is a whole back yard for him to play in, and the chances of that getting cut are about 1 in 8, so he'll be just fine.
The Grass is Always Greener When it is Actually Grass
I mowed the lawn today. Or, rather, I mowed the breeding ground for weeds and misery that is conveniently located right outside my front door. I think everyone should have such a breeding ground within walking distance. But the city made me cut mine! I got a letter from the Police Department saying that: my yard was an eyesore, I'm a lousy landscaper, and am probably bad at math. And if I don't do something about the above problems within one week, they will send their rabid secretaries after me.
I personally think that mowing the lawn should be the man's job. Because I like to only do things that showcase and emphasize my femininity, and lawn-mowing does not do that. Even mowing in 5 inch heels didn't help. It just made me feel stupid. But the fact is Richard has enough other things to do on Saturdays, and here I was with a gorgeous day. Why not?
First though, I had to get the lawnmower started. And I did NOT want to be starting it out in the front yard where my neighbors and random kids on bicycles could see me. I can't think of anything more embarrassing than the convulsions I have to go through to get the mower started the first time. Except maybe square dancing. So I pushed the mower all the way around behind the house and by some miracle, and after putting gas into it, I actually got it started.
So I pushed it back around and got to work. Though I honestly don't know what the city was making such a big deal about. I really don't think it had gotten all that tall.
Harrison, meanwhile, was furious. Apparently the weeds are his friends. He kept telling me to put them back, leave his guys alone, and shaking his fists at me. I just kept mowing though. I take letters from the police department very seriously. But it was no day at the beach, believe me. Our weeds are so juicy that the lawnmower stopped about every 3 minutes because the place where the cuttings shoot out was so clogged the blade couldn't spin any more. The weeds just piled up in there like Orc bodies at the gates of Minas Tirith.
My front yard is not that big, but after a couple of hours I was getting pretty tired. And the lawnmower just kept quitting every 3 to 5 minutes and I started telling myself that as soon as I couldn't get it to start back up on the first try I was just going to stop for the day. So, of course, it started right up, every single time, though I could barely summon the energy to pull the string at all. Even my sissy little girl pulls were enough to start it up. Pretty darn good little yard-sale lawn mower. I mean, it was smoking pretty seriously by the end, but I made it. I cut the whole thing. And I looked a little like a sea monster, I was so covered with green. And my high heels were totally ruined.
So now comes the one month stretch of summer where my yard almost looks like grass. And the nice thing about weeds is that we probably won't have to cut them again this year. I'm really surprised more people don't go this route. Even if you can't walk on it in your bare feet.
So, Good-bye weeds. You will me missed, but not by me.
Don't worry. There is a whole back yard for him to play in, and the chances of that getting cut are about 1 in 8, so he'll be just fine.
x
x
I personally think that mowing the lawn should be the man's job. Because I like to only do things that showcase and emphasize my femininity, and lawn-mowing does not do that. Even mowing in 5 inch heels didn't help. It just made me feel stupid. But the fact is Richard has enough other things to do on Saturdays, and here I was with a gorgeous day. Why not?
First though, I had to get the lawnmower started. And I did NOT want to be starting it out in the front yard where my neighbors and random kids on bicycles could see me. I can't think of anything more embarrassing than the convulsions I have to go through to get the mower started the first time. Except maybe square dancing. So I pushed the mower all the way around behind the house and by some miracle, and after putting gas into it, I actually got it started.
So I pushed it back around and got to work. Though I honestly don't know what the city was making such a big deal about. I really don't think it had gotten all that tall.
My front yard is not that big, but after a couple of hours I was getting pretty tired. And the lawnmower just kept quitting every 3 to 5 minutes and I started telling myself that as soon as I couldn't get it to start back up on the first try I was just going to stop for the day. So, of course, it started right up, every single time, though I could barely summon the energy to pull the string at all. Even my sissy little girl pulls were enough to start it up. Pretty darn good little yard-sale lawn mower. I mean, it was smoking pretty seriously by the end, but I made it. I cut the whole thing. And I looked a little like a sea monster, I was so covered with green. And my high heels were totally ruined.
So now comes the one month stretch of summer where my yard almost looks like grass. And the nice thing about weeds is that we probably won't have to cut them again this year. I'm really surprised more people don't go this route. Even if you can't walk on it in your bare feet.
So, Good-bye weeds. You will me missed, but not by me.
x
x
Apr 18, 2011
The Crayonbot
The other day we made crayons. Or rather, remade some crayons, by taking old broken crayons and melting them into new shapes. It was pretty darn fun.
We colored with them for a while, but then Harrison used them to make a robot (of course), which is he was pretty proud of.
See?
We colored with them for a while, but then Harrison used them to make a robot (of course), which is he was pretty proud of.
Apr 16, 2011
Some April Stuff
Oh boy howdy, Colin loves playing the organ
Sitting next to Harrison and banging on the keyboard is about the most fun he can have.
The other day Colin and I were getting ready to take a shower. I turned on the water and then went to get some towels and I guess Colin got tired of waiting.
Just crawled right in there in his jim jams. And he loved it.
The next day Harrison decided he wanted to take a bath in the sink.
It was pretty crowdy but he loved it anyway.
Sitting next to Harrison and banging on the keyboard is about the most fun he can have.
The other day Colin and I were getting ready to take a shower. I turned on the water and then went to get some towels and I guess Colin got tired of waiting.
Just crawled right in there in his jim jams. And he loved it.
The next day Harrison decided he wanted to take a bath in the sink.
It was pretty crowdy but he loved it anyway.
Apr 13, 2011
Colin: 10 Months
It is hard to believe he'll be a year old in just a couple of months. A year sounds old. And he is just so little. And gosh, could he be any cuter?
At 10 months, Colin's favorite thing to do is help me load the dishwasher. His preferred method of helping is to pull all the plates and silverware onto the floor. He is the fastest crawler in the whole wide world and he is terrified of the vacuum. He doesn't want to crawl past it, be left alone in a room with it or see it out of the corner of his eye. It is filled with the capacity to give him a little fright, and he finds that unbearable.
And he gets sweeter everyday. I just think everything is does is totally adorable. Except when he spit up all over me earlier tonight. That wasn't that awesome. But still! He is so cute!
At 10 months, Colin's favorite thing to do is help me load the dishwasher. His preferred method of helping is to pull all the plates and silverware onto the floor. He is the fastest crawler in the whole wide world and he is terrified of the vacuum. He doesn't want to crawl past it, be left alone in a room with it or see it out of the corner of his eye. It is filled with the capacity to give him a little fright, and he finds that unbearable.
And he gets sweeter everyday. I just think everything is does is totally adorable. Except when he spit up all over me earlier tonight. That wasn't that awesome. But still! He is so cute!
Apr 10, 2011
There is no Intro
Ok, so here is the thing. My husband just got put in the Bishopric. Just a couple weeks ago. My first thought when they called him was "We are not OLD enough for that!" But, the truth is, we are. I just turned 33. And Richard is almost 40. Did you catch that? FORTY. Yeah. In your thirties you can say you are "getting old" but once you are 40 you are officially there. Oldness. You have arrived and there is no use fooling yourself. And my baby-faced husband is almost there. So, yeah, despite the fact that age has nothing to do with the calling, he is still, definitely, old enough.
My second thought was "I'm going to be watching my kids alone in sacrament meeting." And that is about as far as my thinking went. My brain is pretty small, so I try not to work it too hard. Besides, I knew Richard would be fine, but me? ME? Would I actually be able to survive this?
Today was our big chance to find out. Today was my first chance to sit through sacrament meeting alone with my two little boys. So how did I do? I think I would have to give myself 1 & 1/2 thumbs down. And maybe a sad, slow, shake of the head.
I didn't totally fail. Harrison did not run screaming up and down the aisle (though he did scream "Go Away!" when I tried to wipe his nose). And they didn't rub Vaseline into the carpet (because I am smart enough not to take Vaseline to church. They get plenty of Vaseline time rubbing into the bathroom floor at home). So it wasn't a total loss. And we did just great for about the first 3 minutes, which I think is something I can really be proud of. But Colin is ready to start exploring with gusto as soon as we walk into the building, and after the first 3 minutes he had our 2 feet of pew pretty much figured out. So the rest of the meeting was basically a wrestling match while I tried to keep him from escaping.
Meanwhile I did what I could to keep Harrison occupied enough that he wasn't smacking his brother or throwing things around the chapel. After he started grinding cheerios into the seat I picked them all up and took them away but I couldn't find the lid and I almost started crying after I dumped them over twice in a row. I went digging around in my giant diaper bag for the lid to the stupid cheerios bowl with one hand while trying to keep Colin from throwing himself off the seat with the other hand. I found about 7 pairs of underwear. No lid. At least in an emergency I can sew the underwear together to make clothes or a blanket or tent or something. I finally gave up and dumped the cheerios straight into the diaper bag. I'm sure they'll come in handy when someone is starving one of these days.
The rest of the meeting is a blur. Probably a bunch more stuff happened, but I don't want to tell you about it because I would like you to think that I am only saying that I am a bad mom. Apparently we survived it. Me and my children are all alive which is sometimes all you can ask for. And I would like my husband to think that I totally have this thing under control, so don't tell him about the cheerios, OK?
My second thought was "I'm going to be watching my kids alone in sacrament meeting." And that is about as far as my thinking went. My brain is pretty small, so I try not to work it too hard. Besides, I knew Richard would be fine, but me? ME? Would I actually be able to survive this?
Today was our big chance to find out. Today was my first chance to sit through sacrament meeting alone with my two little boys. So how did I do? I think I would have to give myself 1 & 1/2 thumbs down. And maybe a sad, slow, shake of the head.
I didn't totally fail. Harrison did not run screaming up and down the aisle (though he did scream "Go Away!" when I tried to wipe his nose). And they didn't rub Vaseline into the carpet (because I am smart enough not to take Vaseline to church. They get plenty of Vaseline time rubbing into the bathroom floor at home). So it wasn't a total loss. And we did just great for about the first 3 minutes, which I think is something I can really be proud of. But Colin is ready to start exploring with gusto as soon as we walk into the building, and after the first 3 minutes he had our 2 feet of pew pretty much figured out. So the rest of the meeting was basically a wrestling match while I tried to keep him from escaping.
Meanwhile I did what I could to keep Harrison occupied enough that he wasn't smacking his brother or throwing things around the chapel. After he started grinding cheerios into the seat I picked them all up and took them away but I couldn't find the lid and I almost started crying after I dumped them over twice in a row. I went digging around in my giant diaper bag for the lid to the stupid cheerios bowl with one hand while trying to keep Colin from throwing himself off the seat with the other hand. I found about 7 pairs of underwear. No lid. At least in an emergency I can sew the underwear together to make clothes or a blanket or tent or something. I finally gave up and dumped the cheerios straight into the diaper bag. I'm sure they'll come in handy when someone is starving one of these days.
The rest of the meeting is a blur. Probably a bunch more stuff happened, but I don't want to tell you about it because I would like you to think that I am only saying that I am a bad mom. Apparently we survived it. Me and my children are all alive which is sometimes all you can ask for. And I would like my husband to think that I totally have this thing under control, so don't tell him about the cheerios, OK?
Apr 5, 2011
I'm Happy Where I'm At
Prepositional phrase be hanged. (or is it a dangling participle?)
As you can probably tell, I give my blog posts lots of thought before publishing them. I don't just pound out some drivel, hit publish, and move on. I think it out. I plan. I write draft after draft after draft, scrap the whole thing and start over again and then write several more drafts before each post is ready for publication. Each post is, by anyone's standards, a short masterpiece and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Today though, I am just going to write it. I've already typed in my title, which means I have a general idea of what I want to say, and so I am just going to start saying it, and see what comes out. It should be a pretty exciting exercise. Sort of like Jazzercise.
I am 33 now. I am officially "Getting Old", there is no denying it. The other day I was thinking about guys that I used to date. I totally do that all the time. I was always into very active, outdoorsy guys, who like hiking and rock climbing and snow boarding, sitting in frozen lakes, or running directly up the side of a cliff or jumping out of a helicopter into a swimming pool. Stuff like that. Which is fine. Whatever. The problem was I just wasn't so much into that stuff. I mean, it is fun to do sometimes. Who doesn't love a good run up a cliff now and then? They just aren't my passion. But I felt like they should be. So I always had to pretend like I actually cared about hiking boots and bike tires and stuff that I don't even want to type because it bores me so much.
Take What's-His-Name, that I dated in college. He always acted like the day was a total waste if he wasn't out living it to death, by driving around in the mud in his truck, or riding his bike down the side of a building. He had even arranged his schedule specifically so he could go skiing twice a week. Which really doesn't sound bad in writing. Richard, on the other hand, was working so hard in school that he barely had time to look at me. What's-His-Name was trying to find a major that required the least amount of work, and always said he hoped his wife would want to be the bread winner so that he could stay home all day. Gosh am I glad I didn't marry him. That guy was a ding-a-ling. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
I should probably be completely honest at this point and say that me and What's-His-Name never actually dated. He never kissed me or even held my hand or anything. I think he might have been just a little bit gay, cuz look at me, I was gorgeous.
I guess the point is that I didn't really know what I was looking for, so I am so glad I just happened to find it. I would have been miserable married to one of the guys I was usually interested in. All of our money would have been spent on expensive crap from R.E.I and I would have had to spend every weekend carrying a 97 pound backpack through a river filled with alligators. I admit these people do some very exciting things, but it exhausts me just thinking about it. And yes, Richard would love to spend a lot of money at R.E.I too, but what he loves is camping, which for me means sitting around a campfire eating the food that HE cooked. Nothing wrong with that.
While it is true that sometimes I wish I weren't quite so lazy, mostly I am just so glad that I get to be. I like my husband and I'm glad he's mine and even though my house is messy I'm happy where I'm at. And that is a nice place to be.
As you can probably tell, I give my blog posts lots of thought before publishing them. I don't just pound out some drivel, hit publish, and move on. I think it out. I plan. I write draft after draft after draft, scrap the whole thing and start over again and then write several more drafts before each post is ready for publication. Each post is, by anyone's standards, a short masterpiece and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Today though, I am just going to write it. I've already typed in my title, which means I have a general idea of what I want to say, and so I am just going to start saying it, and see what comes out. It should be a pretty exciting exercise. Sort of like Jazzercise.
I am 33 now. I am officially "Getting Old", there is no denying it. The other day I was thinking about guys that I used to date. I totally do that all the time. I was always into very active, outdoorsy guys, who like hiking and rock climbing and snow boarding, sitting in frozen lakes, or running directly up the side of a cliff or jumping out of a helicopter into a swimming pool. Stuff like that. Which is fine. Whatever. The problem was I just wasn't so much into that stuff. I mean, it is fun to do sometimes. Who doesn't love a good run up a cliff now and then? They just aren't my passion. But I felt like they should be. So I always had to pretend like I actually cared about hiking boots and bike tires and stuff that I don't even want to type because it bores me so much.
Take What's-His-Name, that I dated in college. He always acted like the day was a total waste if he wasn't out living it to death, by driving around in the mud in his truck, or riding his bike down the side of a building. He had even arranged his schedule specifically so he could go skiing twice a week. Which really doesn't sound bad in writing. Richard, on the other hand, was working so hard in school that he barely had time to look at me. What's-His-Name was trying to find a major that required the least amount of work, and always said he hoped his wife would want to be the bread winner so that he could stay home all day. Gosh am I glad I didn't marry him. That guy was a ding-a-ling. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
I should probably be completely honest at this point and say that me and What's-His-Name never actually dated. He never kissed me or even held my hand or anything. I think he might have been just a little bit gay, cuz look at me, I was gorgeous.
I guess the point is that I didn't really know what I was looking for, so I am so glad I just happened to find it. I would have been miserable married to one of the guys I was usually interested in. All of our money would have been spent on expensive crap from R.E.I and I would have had to spend every weekend carrying a 97 pound backpack through a river filled with alligators. I admit these people do some very exciting things, but it exhausts me just thinking about it. And yes, Richard would love to spend a lot of money at R.E.I too, but what he loves is camping, which for me means sitting around a campfire eating the food that HE cooked. Nothing wrong with that.
While it is true that sometimes I wish I weren't quite so lazy, mostly I am just so glad that I get to be. I like my husband and I'm glad he's mine and even though my house is messy I'm happy where I'm at. And that is a nice place to be.
Apr 2, 2011
Tricks of the Trade
To get Harrison to look at me so I can take his picture, I will sometimes say things like, "Look at me, Harrison! My hair is on fire!." or "Look! There's a spider on my head!"
So of course he'll look up,
 |
| March 29, 2011 |
with a happy and excited look on his face, (cuz what could be cooler than to see a spider on Mom's head?) and I snap the picture as quick as I can. But then he says "Where that spider? I wanna see that spider. Where that spider on yours head?" Until I finally have to tell him that I was only teasing him. So the next time the spider line doesn't work and I have to keep thinking up more and shocking things to just try to get him to look at me for a second. He likes to keep me on my toes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
