Other important lessons
Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave feedback on the last post. I know that most folks stop by here for The Funny, and sometimes when I post on more serious topics, the crickets chirp loudly and I do my Elephant Man impersonation here, alone in my bedroom at night (“I am not an animal! I am a person!”) while wondering if I always have to balance a ball on my nose while juggling two live chainsaws and a baby.
Anyway. I’m glad that I had more than crickets to keep me company on that last bit o’ rambling. So, thanks.
As a reward for indulging me while I stared, mesmerized, into my navel, I now present a few other important skills I hope that my offspring will attain at some point in my lifetime. (Yes, mine. Not theirs. It doesn’t count if I don’t live to see it. Because I’m a selfish bitch that way. Also other ways, but let’s try to stay on topic for right now.)
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“But it wasn’t me!”
There are so many important lessons we parents are responsible for teaching our children. How to share. How to take turns. How to partake of a meal in a way that won’t get you thrown out of a restaurant or never invited back to a friend’s house. How to put things away when you’re done with them so that Mama doesn’t step on them in the dark and hop around cursing while holding her injured foot.
I struggle every day, hoping that I am helping my children become people whom I will be proud to know. Especially because I believe example is the best teacher, and sometimes my example isn’t all that I wish it was. Other times, I am at a loss to explain why things have happened as they have; either because I simply don’t know or because the full scope of the situation is beyond what they can understand.
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Random bits of August
The acne solution I use on my face at night–combined with the heat and some sweating–is bleaching out my pillowcases. Note to self: Get a new face, or consider sticking to all-white bedding.
A few hours in the sun helps with the acne, but causes me to burn and freckle (not tan) even with sunscreen. Also, my children do not appreciate me calling out “Mama McWhiterson wants to see your TUSHIE!” as I tug on their swimsuits and admire their tan lines.
There are two more months of Summer left. Naturally, I cannot find the white shoes I neeeeeeeeeeed, because the stores are full of… boots? Cognitive dissonance… brain… hurts.
But I can find the world’s cutest dress sandal on clearance and in my size! That’s right, SANDAL, singular. Just one. But, see, I have TWO feet. So close, and yet so far. *sob*
My daughter got herself a Get Out Of Being Traded To The Gypsies FREE card today when she offered to swap ice pops with me. Not impressed? She had a BLUE one. The LAST blue one. In a single moment, the past seven years were suddenly all worth it.
The Curad Generation
Baby Boomers, Gen Xers, Generation Y, Sandwich Generation… they all pale in comparison. Today’s youths face issues us old fogies can never comprehend. Namely, they are wusses.
My own children are a crystal-clear demonstration of this new ruling class. They are unimpressed with tales of long hikes in the snow (uphill both ways, barefoot). Tell them that there were no superhero band-aids, though, and they recoil in disbelief.
I fear that in their bid to become poster children for their generation, my kids are going to empty my bank account, kill themselves, and drive me insane. Not necessarily in that order.
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Thrills! Chills! Ooze!
I was feeling a little jealous of all the folks who got to attend BlogHer this weekend, but really, my life is way more exciting than all of that. Who needs a conference full of funny, cool women when they could just BE ME instead?? I am my own entertainment, baby. All excitement, all the time.
Wooooooooooooooo!
I’m on fire, I tell you. Stand back.
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Accidental clarity
Every now and then, grace sneaks up on me when I’m not looking.
I don’t mean when I’m plucking my eyebrows or squeezing a zit or anything; even grace isn’t that miraculous. But when I most need it, and least expect it, I am occasionally–quite unexpectedly–blessed.
Two days ago I stumbled upon the ability to let go, and the most amazing part is that I was spitting mad when it happened. I mean I was mid-birthing-live-kittens angry.
But then, I suppose that’s why we so often refer to grace as amazing.
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Exposure leads to mildew leads to. . .
I’d like to be able to do all of my own home repairs. I’d also like to be able to fly and inflict severe bodily harm with only my laser-beam glare. Sometimes I don’t get what I want.
Nonetheless, I think I’ve learned a fair amount about how to remedy the basic annoyances that face most homeowners. Nothing stunning, of course. I can spackle, sand, paint and wallpaper. I can do very basic carpentry repair. I’ve put in a new floor. Whatever needs doing, that it seems like I might be able to teach myself, really. But I do not mess with plumbing, short of changing a washer. I know my limits.
So when the wet spot appeared on the dining room ceiling, I experienced a sinking feeling. The shower in my master bathroom has always slopped water onto the floor unless the curtain was arranged just so. Perhaps I’d slacked on my curtain vigilance. I was more careful, the next day, and the floor was dry when I emerged from the shower.
But the spot on the downstairs ceiling had grown.
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We do enjoy the singing parts
The entire world is reading Harry Potter, and I am stuck with THIS rattling around my brain:
Not quite what I would’ve predicted
There was a huge and impressive thunderstorm tonight, which began as I loitered by my side door, waiting for a friend to come pick me up. I was being dragged to a BBQ. As I watched the rain pummel the earth and blinked against the lightning, I noticed that my recently-cleaned gutters were simply not up for the deluge. Were the gutters blocked, or just overwhelmed? I was mesmerized, trying to puzzle it out. It doesn’t matter, of course; either way, the end result is the same. They couldn’t handle it. The reason is immaterial.
But I’m a fan of reason(s), and lack of it leaves me feeling lost.
The reason to go to the aforementioned gathering was clear: my friend demanded that I attend. I think she was certain this would Be Good For Me. Me, I don’t argue anymore. She said she’d come get me, and I said okay. And I stood there transfixed by my new personal waterfall until it was time to go.
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Vacation / All I ever wanted
I need a vacation. And some sleep. But I. NEED. a vacation.
It just so happens I have a plane ticket! Yes! Isn’t that fortuitous?
Except that it isn’t, exactly, because this ticket I have is the Wrong Ticket. Not a Golden Ticket (we saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory today) or a ticket that will take me to somewhere exciting or even just to people who are willing to tolerate me. Nope. And of course, it’s a non-refundable ticket, because refundable ones cost eleventy trillion dollars, and this one only cost one of Monkey’s kidneys.
But! Non-refundable means I can pay a change fee (perhaps only equivalent to the sale of some plasma) and apply it towards a different ticket. A vacation ticket.
Did I mention, I need a vacation?
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