Well, Hot Dog!

Those of you who have known me for any length of time probably had to pick your jaw up off the floor when you heard that we got a puppy. I sometimes feel like I'm missing some female genes, one of them being a comfortable presence around animals. I'm that awkward lady at the park that pats your dog on the head when you thrust it in front of me. It looks at me as if to say, "Everyone loves me. What's wrong with you? I'm stinkin' adorable." It's not that I don't like them. I'm just not a natural.

The past several months, however, my heart has begun to gradually turn in a different direction. I realized, upon getting married, just how selfish I really was. I never really knew what it was like to take care of anyone...or anything besides myself.

I remember shopping at the Dallas Galleria with Justin right after we got married. After window shopping at Gucci, Coach, Rolex and other designer stores, I found myself unknowingly throwing myself a pity party. By the end of the day, Justin was aggravated with me-- and rightfully so. He had spent money on nice dinners, activities and hotels and here I was acting like the little orphan Annie because I couldn't afford a $900 purse.

My character flaw has shown itself more than once in our 7+ months of marriage.

But lately I have tried to care for him. I made him Good Luck Brownies before his big Engineering Fundamentals exam. I let him eat straight out of the pan and get as many crumbs on the couch as he wanted. I try to send text messages first. I try to not let my first response always be a "No." When he wants a dog, I don't automatically rule it out as a possibility.

So I saw this ad for these mini daschunds. They seemed to stare at me from the computer screen. "You can do this. You need to do this."

Though a spontaneous decision, I feel like the process on my heart has been gradual. I went to the mall yesterday for the first time in a long time-- spent 5 hours there. And left joyous when I usually leave with envy and a sense of life's unfairness. I knew at that moment that some progress had been made.

So little Fiona is my little progress monitor. She will poop. And probably throw up. And probably a bunch of other fun stuff. But she will also cuddle; and look up at me like I'm the greatest protector ever.

I am a firm believer that God laughs at me daily. Not in a mean, junior high way-- but just because that's how I picture our relationship. I'm sure he was doing that just moments ago when I allowed a dog to lick my face and then excitedly declared, "She likes me! I think. She likes me!"

I am not overconfident. I'm still not a pro. So prayers are appreciated. And I'm sure plenty of writing material will commence.

If Life Gives You Soggy Rice...

I know you just clicked on this to catch the end of that headline. Or maybe you're my friend and/or relative clicking on this in an obligatory manner. Regardless, I'll cut the suspense and finish.

If life gives you soggy rice...

                     Make soup and call it dinner. 

We always think we know best don't we? I know I do. I think my quest to cook has taught me more about myself than marriage has. Well, not really. But it's a close one. 

I'm making rice for like the bazillionth time the other night. I usually use measuring cups to make sure the water amount is just right. But on this day, I was feeling like a rockstar. Measuring cups are for the birds I told myself as I bravely eyed the water entering the pot. Fast forward to later and the rice is still floating on top of the water like a starchy buoy, showing no signs of becoming meal material. Luckily, Justin somehow made a tasty soup out of it.

Lesson? Rice needs a specified amount of water in order to form properly. Directions are there for a reason. Use them. This isn't the first time I have encountered a culinary disaster because of my stubborn ways. Who's got two thumbs and tried to make cookies out of pancake mix because combining two things you love has to be blessed by the Saint of Sugar? This girl. Yum. Pancake bricks. 

Does the cheesy analogy lover in me want to write a devotional right now about how the Bible is a recipe and if we don't follow it exactly, we will not inherit the perfect meringue (eternal life)? Yeah, kind of. But the cheesy columnist in me would rather divulge five other things I have learned the hard way since becoming domesticated (kind of makes me sound like a cat):

1. Make sure to pick up husband's jeans off the floor carefully. Otherwise, an array of inanimate objects will tumble on your toes. Two pocket knives, a mechanical pencil and a box of matches? I had no idea that I married MacGyver (if you have to google this, your parents weren't as cool as mine. Sorry.)

2. Just don't watch Lifetime. Ever. Or at least keep one eye open while you sleep. 

3. Having someone else see your debit card transactions keeps you in check, but somewhat terrifies you. This is pretty much how my monthly bill looked pre-marriage: "Sonic. Sonic. Taco Bell. Target. Target. Sonic. Gap. Sonic. Sonic. Old Navy." Talking frugality has turned me into a paranoid crazy. And the worst part? It's self-induced. I will come home and freely blurt out, "I went to Target today. But it's not what you think! I had to buy a baby shower gift...and I got a candy bar when I checked out."

4. Husbands don't know that having "baby fever" is not the same as thinking babies are cute. You have to tell them. Otherwise, they will unknowingly announce that you have it and people will hug you and act like you have caught the heavenly plague. 

5. King Size Bed = Happy Marriage. This is coming from the girl who slept on a twin bed until my last year in grad school. Justin's family firmly believes in the power of a king size and bought us one as a wedding gift. Oh, glorious day. There is a time for everything. There's a time to mourn and a time to laugh, a time to cuddle and a time to be 10 feet away from Captain Body Heat. 

"Every man wants a wife who is beautiful, understanding, economical, and a good cook. But the law allows only one wife." -Someone

 

 

Hey, It's OK: Volume II

Back by popular demand...Let me start over...Back because of a bad case of writer's block, we have our second installment of "Hey, It's OK," the blog segment that makes you feel better about yourself. 

HEY, IT'S OK...

... to save the Pumpkin Reese's Peanut Butter Cups for yourself and pass out handfuls of chalky Smarties to the children. 

... to tell yourself the staircase at work is creepy. You've watched SVU. Elevator it is.

... to accidentally make eye contact with your highest work superior while a mangled Pop-Tart hangs out of your open trap.

... to be flattered when someone mistakes black yoga pants for nice slacks.

... to replace the function of a tank top with a scarf when it hits fall. Less layers and I can still cover up the sisters.

... to say "This is just nasty. I can't watch this," while continuing to watch any show on TLC.

... to somehow find a way to defend Aria and Ezra's relationship on Pretty Little Liars. [Addition: Hey, It's OK to watch Pretty Little Liars.]

... to judge people you don't know based on the Halloween decorations in their yard.

... to actually wear clothes on Halloween. FYI: The last cop that pulled me over wasn't baring their midriff. 

... to think Trunk-or-Treats are kind of like Halloween hand-outs. People gripe about the welfare system, but then hand out all their goods to a lazy kid in green sweats claiming to be a turtle.

... to eavesdrop on an obvious first date just to see how awkward they are.

... to squirt saliva out of your overactive spit glands onto the face of your new, young dentist. 

... to have a slight complex about being older than all college athletes on television right now.

HEY, IT'S NOT OK...

... to write "LMBO" or "LMAO" on your status if your age exceeds 13.

... to proclaim you're sick of hearing about politics in the same rant in which you mention your view on the election. Do unto others, people. 

... to mop the floors in front of the place where people order during lunch rush hour (cough, cough McDonald's.)

 

 

Getting Real

You know when they interview "real guys" in magazines and they say bogus stuff? Read one the other day: "20 Annoying Girl Things He Secretly Loves About You." Oh, so you actually love hearing about Real Housewives of New York City? I had no idea. One of them actually said that he likes being told stories about awesome ex-boyfriends because it means "you're with me now." Get real. 


So I got real.

And I searched all over the world for a male interviewee who represents every demographic. So we could get to the bottom of this. Lie. I searched all the way to the other side of the couch. A special thanks to Justin for pretending my blog is famous and taking the time to answer a few questions.

1. What would you hypothesize is the reason women go to the bathroom in packs?

"I think they give away free stuff. Every time you go in and out, you get a free gift package-- but only if you have 4 or more." 

2. What are your real thoughts on high heels?

"If women can walk in them without effort or even run in them, stay away. That's more high maintenance than I can handle. But if they wear them and struggle, they're more down to earth and I can handle that. I will one day create a chart that plots ability to walk in heels versus daily relationship maintenance."

3. What are your thoughts on excessive animal prints on clothes?

"Are you trying to blend in with the Serengeti? It's like female camo. That must mean that females are always on the hunt, but I'm not really sure what for."

4. Are you a fan of leggings as pants?

"No comment on my real feelings. However, I don't see a difference in wearing leggings as pants and just wearing no pants. It just makes your legs a different color." 

5. What hair style do you not understand and why?

"Poofs blow my mind. Because it looks like you just rolled out of bed, but it took you 5 hours to do." 

6. When girls cry, what is your natural reaction? All societal pressures aside, what does it make you want to do?

"Leave and exit the situation. But since I can't, I'll awkwardly pat and rub you."

7. In all honesty, do guys panic if their significant other gets a little fluffy post-marriage?

"When I lay my head on your tummy, I don't want to feel like I'm hitting a brick."

8. What chick show/movie/music do you secretly tolerate?

"My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I love that movie. Can't really handle any of your shows, but that Katy Perry song is kind of catchy." 

9. Do you think our toilet paper usage is extreme?

"There's no way an individual needs that much toilet paper. It's like you're using enough to supply an entire village of men. I'd be raw." 

10. What's the biggest misconception that movie guys give women about real guys?

"They [jerks] always get better at the end or do a 180. After two months of leading you along, then breaking your heart, an epiphany occurs and they run after you in the rain. Not going to happen." 

11. What do guys think about the way girls flirt?

"I find it annoying when they are unoriginal or obviously lying. For example, 'You're so strong.' I just opened up a jar of pickles. Chill out. And emoticons. After the first 5 smiley faces, I gathered that you liked me. The other 74 were just creepy."

12. Describe a girl's bathroom routine in detail.

"Put stuff on your cheeks. Put stuff on your eyelids. Put stuff on your eyelashes. Put way too much stuff on your lips. Put stuff in your hair. Double check. Triple check. Somehow pass 25 more minutes. Then emerge."

_____________________________

Justin is a real married guy living in Jonesboro, Arkansas. 

Apathy to Action

A crumpled piece of computer paper hangs crooked on the bathroom wall. It has seen more graffiti than it has consideration; it has collected more germs than it has glances. "Bullying will not be tolerated at this school," it reads in bold Times New Roman font. 

It is our way of appeasing laws that hold us even more responsible for the lives of other human beings. It enables us to watch it hang there and feel like we did our part. 

If a parent put up a sign in their home that said, "No touching the stove," but sat idly by while their child severely burned their hand, we would be outraged--and demand punishment. But in our schools, in our society, putting up a sign is a box that is checked off and never looked at again.

A family from our church has been battling the Jonesboro School District seeking some resemblance of justice for their son Dylan who was beat up by several students after school. Though any child would be traumatized, Dylan is autistic, which heightens his fear to endure the junior high environment.

The school and administration has seemed to take a stance of nonchalance. The students responsible are going about their daily lives, probably treating other children with the same meanness. Pleas for resolution or a public statement have gone unanswered.

And we wonder, we wonder why kids don't trust us. We wonder why they would rather talk to an online stranger playing video games than confide their deepest feelings. We lose our faith in them. We groan about what they haven't contributed to our world. 

But how can they ever rise to where we want them to be if we, as grown adults, repeatedly push them back down?

Kids are smart. And they can call our bluff immediately. A new study out shows that in only a single interaction, children can determine which adults to trust for truthful information. One interaction. Most adults date pathological liars for three years before they reach such a conclusion.

More than a rant, this is a call for us to replace signs with sincerity, to replace apathy with action. Bullies become bullies because they are allowed to continue their habitual behavior with no consequences. Our job is not to combat bad parenting, which is inevitable, it is to pick justice and compassion over intimidation. I don't care if their parent heads up your school fundraiser -- be courageous. I don't care if the kid even scares the pants off of you -- be courageous. I don't care if the victim isn't your brightest pupil -- be courageous.

Because bullies don't just stuff kids in lockers and dunk their heads in toilets. They don't just cuss and call you bad names.

They also come in another form: people who have been given all the tools to help who refuse to step in.

Gandhi once said that "Action expresses priorities." 

What are ours? 

 

How Exciting

Imagine Ben Stein (minus the giant eyeball beach ball and Visine drops) saying, "How exciting" in that drawn out, monotone voice of his.

This is exactly what the 18-year-old me would say to the present me. Truth is, what's exciting does change with time.

I went to the eye doctor yesterday and the lady says, "Do you have insurance you would like to file with us?"

I was slightly beaming as I declared, "Yes, I do." She then asked if I was the policy holder. Why yes I am. I whipped out those freshly perforated, new cards and handed them to her like they were a fold-out wallet of my 15 grandchildren. I know that my deductible is so high that I practically have to lose a limb before it won't cost me an arm and a leg anymore (I had to do it). But there was something so exciting about having my own insurance for the first time; insurance that I work for every day.

See what I mean? Pathetic. Ten years ago you would have had to juggle 10 large plates and swallow a sword to impress me. Now having a $10 copay to get new glasses makes me ecstatic.

Here are some other things that I now find exciting:

• Not having plans on Friday night. I used to feel like a loser if I didn't have anything on the docket. As we speak, I have wound myself into a blanket cocoon on my bed. And I couldn't be more pumped about it.

• Being able to breathe in previously tight pants. The other day because of a laundry mishap (that mishap being...not doing laundry) I was forced to resort to the pants in the back of the closet. You know. The ones that stare at you and taunt, "Last time you wore me, your circulation was cut off. Try, try again." I put them on in desperation and, though not comfortable, I was able to breathe quite consistently all day. Exciting.

• Self-created rewards. I wish I was kidding when I tell you that I motivate myself in 30 minute increments on a really long day. Today at 1:30, I promised myself that I would get two Starbursts at 2:00. Luckily, I made it to receive the long awaited prize.

• Getting a green light at your least favorite light. There is a stoplight here in town that is so long that you can read a book, listen to that same book on tape and then paint your toenails and let them dry. On the days I get to zip through this one, I feel like the heavens have shined upon me.

• Finding a fabricated calorie count on a food item on your fitness app. Let me explain: I had strawberry cake yesterday. Three layers. Whipped icing. Looked it up in my app and found some clearly made-up strawberry cake calorie amount. Totally picked it. If Sally Joe's strawberry cake has 130 calories, then Sally Joe made this strawberry cake. I didn't catch the cook's name after all.

• Getting new undergarments. You'd be excited too if you were almost impaled by your own brassiere last week. Just call me Mrs. Captain Hook.

• Dimly lit restaurants. One man's McDonald's is another man's Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. I'll never forget excitedly telling a new acquaintance that Justin and I were going to PF Chang's to eat for a night out. "Oh, yeah. That's a lot like China Garden...have fun." Um. Lady. The lights are low. The waiters wear all black. We fancy. Oh and it's not like China Garden at all.

• Finding cheap food and places to shop. 49 cent brownie mix at Save-A-Lot. Oh yeah.

• Being called "mam." Ok, so some people scoff at this and get all offended. It was kind of thrilling when a younger employee wrote me back the other day and called me "mam." She doesn't have to know that I'm awkward, I still break out, and I wear my hair in a ponytail most days.

• The appliance section. Justin had to practically pry my face away from the glass of a front-load washer at Lowe's a few months back. "It's so shiny. And fits so many clothes. And it's not outside in the scary room. I want it!" He smiles and replies, "Someday."

So, dear friends, try to find the exciting in every stage of life, however mundane it may seem.

“I think I’m greedy, but I’m not greedy for money – I think that can be a burden – I’m greedy for an exciting life. I want it to be exciting all the time, and I get it, actually. On the other hand, I can find excitement, I admit, in raindrops falling on a puddle and a lot of people wouldn’t. I intend to have it exciting until the day I fall over.”
― David Hockney

Adult Onset...Everything

I've always been a weeee bit of a hypochondriac. The latest thing I have diagnosed myself with is adult onset ADHD. Yes, that is correct. I used to sit through class just fine. College, minus a few drab classes, kept my attention quite well. But, as a supposed grown-up, this is me now:

Read this e-mail. Oh, look at the giant "Ryan's Buffet" sign that you are eye-level with up here. Enter something into a spreadsheet. There's birds! There's birds on top of the Ryan's sign! Go pick up the mail. I wonder if they've built nests up there? What was I going to get? Right. The mail. Starbursts-- there's Skittles and Starbursts on my desk. I wonder if the calories are written on them. The birds are fighting now. Do I smell coffee? 

This is on a good day. I have had to start running rubberbands through my fingers so I don't jump out of my seat. 

I must just be a late bloomer. (Ask my junior high training bras that could now only function as a slingshot). Here are some other usually youthful diseases I have recently acquired:

Frequentobanoitis: In easier terms, I have to go to the bathroom every 10 minutes. In the car. In a plane. On a train. It doesn't matter. I better have constant toilet access. I missed the opportunity when you were able to announce you had to pee and people cheered and brought the portable toilet to you. Now you just get dirty looks when you bring a soda out from the gas station.

Hangrial Outbursts: Babies and children cry when they are hungry and the low, scary Mom voice rumbles, "Is mah baby hungry? Yes, he is. Yes, he is." Twenty years later and here I am suffering from an actual condition: hangry. Contrary to commercial exaggeration, I actually do turn into Roseanne Barr when I need nourishment. It has gotten worse with time. It's harder to suffer with at this age because you can't begin a bawl fest at a business lunch or bite the lady who took the last piece of fried chicken at the potluck.

Sonic Obsessive Disorder: I remember the family effort of weening my youngest brother off his bottle. My job, as big sis, was to read an illustrated book entitled, "Bye Bye Bottle." Didn't work. The kid still wouldn't let go of that thing. I presently need to ween from the Route 44 Styrofoam bottle that has become a little bit of an addiction. I had a bad day. I need Sonic. It's hot outside. That calls for Sonic. My birthday is in 6 months. Sonic celebration.

Sleptomania: When I was a kid, I'm sure I didn't sleep as much as my parents would have preferred. But now, many years later, I can't stay awake. I went to tan today and fell slobber-time asleep. I woke up wondering how long I had been in there. I'll take a nap, sort of wake-up and think, "Ehh, let's just rock this until morning. Peace out." 

Social Annoyance Disease: Most people get this as a child, especially when you have a unique feature like red hair or curly hair that people want to touch all the time without your permission. But, being a cute but average kid, I suppose I was spared from thinking adults were crazy. But now. Oh, sweet Georgia, now. I left Wal-Mart the other day and was in a super bad mood. Justin goes, "What happened to you?" All I had to say was, "I just left Wal-Mart." 

And that's all he had to know. 

I had to give a grown man my best staredown when he was asking an Amish family why they didn't just "go back to Pennsylvania." My future kids better live in fear of the look that shut that man's trap. See? I'm not even in public and I'm making myself annoyed. It's severe, people. And I heard it gets worse the longer you live. 

So if you didn't believe the whole hypochondria thing before, you sure do now. Just pray for a full and fast recovery. I better sign off for now. I think I'm coming down with something. 

 

A Weighted Issue

I recently saw an interview gone awkward with Mad Men's Christina Hendricks. Known for her curvaceous figure, I suppose she had enough when a fashion interviewer asked her about a time when her being full-figured inspired someone else. She sat there in frustrated silence when Ms. I-Catch-On-Quickly repeated the question. She was later quoted as saying, "Calling me full-figured is so rude."

Maybe Christina was a little sensitive; I highly doubt the interviewer meant to hurt her feelings. But still, it's funny the things people say--to women especially--that make you go, "Really?" It's an epidemic really. On Project Runway, the designers flipped out when they found out they had to make clothes for "real women." That was the challenge. Challenge. These are people that don't blink an eyelash at making a dress out of dog food. But they were stressing about fitting a size 12. I'm sure their fabric charges went up by quite a bit, poor souls.

Friends who have had babies say it gets even weirder when you're pregnant with the "Are you sure you're not having twins?" or "You look miserable." Um, thanks?

Here's a few of my female favorites:

Titling the sections that hold double-digit sizes the "Woman" section. 

I realize it's just a word. A common word. But for some reason, when I am shopping for clothes and I see this sign, I imagine Madea standing there in her moo moo saying, "I am woman, hear me roar!" I mean, does housing an extra 15 pounds make me more of a fried chicken cookin', let-me-bake-you-an-apple-pie woman than the pixie stick in the business casual section? I don't get it.

Putting the maternity section next to the plus size section.

There's nothing worse than skimming jeans and all of a sudden pulling out a pair that have a navy blue (why always navy?) stretchy front. You look up and see that Boom. You're in the mama section. Nothing says you have a belly with nothing in it better than this thoughtful placement.

"I'd give anything to have your butt." 

Ok, skinny girl. I'll throw in the cellulite, stretch marks and the zero clothes that fit around it for free. You're welcome.

The word "fleshy." 

This is like circa old, but I have still heard this used recently. Speed dial all the flesh-eating zombies because there is a "Woman" in town. I guess this is the counterpart of "bony," but at least bony individuals get to picture a skeleton rather than the skin-colored body suit Robin Williams hopped in to become Mrs. Doubtfire.

"That outfit looks really...comfortable." 

With the wrong inflection, this sounds awfully close to "You're wearing stretchy pants. In public. Again." This wouldn't be so bizarre if we were consistent. I don't walk up to you in your tight jeans, stilettos and suffocating shirt and say, "Man, you look so uncomfortable girl. Love it!"

Enjoy your large all-white sneakers. 

The posters at Payless and other shoe stores always draw me in. Cute, dainty sandals. Leopard flats. I head over to the 10-11 section, however, and I see it: the large white sneakers with a 3-inch sole. Oh, the cute sandals in the pictures just come in 5-6? Gotcha. I'll just take my attached skis and head out.

Wanting the full sandwich and full soup? Criminal.

There is nothing more inwardly humiliating than being at a hippy sandwich shop and having them make you choose half a small sandwich and half of something else. And they act like you're getting a deal. $10 for half of delightful goodness? Thanks. Add the cookie bigger than my face to that, please.

"Being considerate of others will take your children further in life than any college degree."
Marian Wright Edelman

Kids and Politicians

1. Repeating the same phrases over and over. Kid whining in the back of the van with the steady mantra of "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" gets a "Don't make me pull this van over!" while a politician gets a gold star for "sticking to his guns." Oh let me guess. Job-job-job-job-job-job. I get it.

2. Interrupting the figure head. Moderator, schmoderator. Two minutes, 15 minutes, same thing. This old guy must be up there for looks. But little kid-- you talk while I'm talking and your recess is GONE.

3. Switching up stories. Your kid comes up to you and tells you that the cat knocked over the vase. Then says it fell over when he shut the door. Then you find out he was playing ball in the house. Not a happy camper you shall be. But if politicians do it? "Everyone is free to change their view on something."

4.  Pretentiously saying your name. Can't tell you how many booty bustings I got for dramatically saying, "Ok, Moth-er." But a snooty "Well, Mis-ter President" or "Gov-uh-ner" gets some "He sure showed him" chuckles. Boy, you sure can enunciate. Good job fellas.

5. Telling ridiculously long stories to keep from doing something. "Before bed, can I tell you about school? I colored this picture of a dog. It was a big dog and it was fluffy and it was my favorite and then I got some markers and I drew a picture of a unicorn. Did you know a unicorn just has one horn? They are white and pretty. Can I tell you another story?" Lights out and you're out of there while they beg for their 2nd glass of water. But please, politicians-- by all means, tell me about the imaginary person you met on the campaign trail. It helps us relate to your programs.

6. Have a killer puppy face. "That kind of thing doesn't work on me anymore," we say to the kids of America. But politicians, I don't agree with anything you believe, but you pulled out that one puppy face issue that you know that I want to hear and I will forget everything else that is so incorrect.

7. Failing a history test. You're grounded, kid. Go study. Politician who just made up how a whole century went down? He just misspoke. It's OK.

One Liners

I've never really understood legendary romantic one-liners. Probably because I consider myself fairly romantic, but people just flat out don't talk like that. When Justin came to pick me up for our first date, I was so nervous that I sat there and finished my Master's homework assignment. He sat on the couch next to me while I slaved away. My roommates never let me live that down. That's real love: unplanned, awkward, random silences.

Here's what these movie lines turn into when you get hitched: 

"You had me at hello." - Jerry Maguire 

"You had me at jello...pudding." 

"Nobody sits baby in the corner." - Dirty Dancing

"I know there's just two of us, but can we have that large circular booth in the corner? We need elbow room." 

"Here's looking at you, kid." 

"Here's looking for your kid." 

"It wasn't over. It still isn't over." - The Notebook

"I thought the game was over." "It wasn't over. It still isn't over."

"Dancing is just a conversation between two people. Talk to me." - Hope Floats

"Did you seriously just beat me by 100,000 points on Dance Central. You don't even know how to dance." 

"Goodnight, goodnight, sleep well and when you dream, dream of me..." - Westside Story

"You must have had crazy dreams last night. You were tossing and turning." "Well, you didn't snore. I really think it only happens when you eat a lot of cheese." 

 "I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss from her mouth, one touch of her hand, than eternity without it." - City of Angels

"Your hair smells good. Did you wash it?"

So as you can see, unscripted life kind of lacks the eloquence that Hollywood demands. But happiness comes anyway.

And sometimes waits until you finish your homework.  

 

Just Stop It

The other night I walked in the door, flung my purse off to the side and saw the dishes in the sink that seemed to multiply while I was at work. You would think that the two of us put each entree on a different plate and have three suppers each evening. I don't even know how it happens.

But anyway.

I said to myself, "Better get this done before I sit down for the night." As I unloaded the dishwasher, it hit me: Grown-ups say that. I never understood why people readily accepted the fact that permanently committing to your couch for an entire evening was a valid excuse for not getting something finished; how they could say "I'm already in my pajamas" and other adults were like, "OK, I totally understand that concept. Forget about the whole picking me up on the side of the road thing. That's no cause for getting out of your flannels." 

But now I so get it. 

"Hey babe, are you busy?"

"I'm sitting down." 

"Oh, ok. Never mind." 

It has happened. 

Some other things I now comprehend;

Made famous by my mother, "Well, whose fault is that?"

I hated this phrase. Because it was a question with an already included answer: you, you goofball. I watched a 2nd grade kid last year repeatedly shoot himself in the arm with a rubberband. He approached me and said, 'Ms. Ashton, my arm hurts." And it just flew out. Even adults make me want to say it. You wore a tube top to a party and had a wardrobe malfunction and you're so like embarrassed. Well, whose fault is that?

"If you're bored, I'll give you something to do." 

Why was I ever dumb enough to admit that I was bored?  That's like an invitation to parents and people everywhere to put you to work. I love to be bored now. Please let me be bored. I just want to stare at a wall in complete silence. I promise. 

"Just stop it."

So simple yet so meaningful. Mom, I don't like school. Just stop it. Mom, all the other kids are allowed to say 'butt.' Just stop it. Now I can't tell you how many times I will be listening to a conversation and I want to just shout this. If you are going to continually tell me about a jerky friend or a horrible boyfriend you have, while you continue to associate with this person, I will one day hysterically say to you, "Just stop it!"

"Money doesn't grow on trees." 

I didn't stop asking for money long enough to even let this one sink in. I guess I thought parents worked so you could have basketball shoes, Silver jeans and Wednesday night blizzards from Dairy Queen. You mean to tell me you have to pay for things like water, the lights I leave on in my room and this house we live in? No way. I now live with the fact that I work 40 hours a week to pay for a house I hang out in 25 hours a week if I'm lucky.

"Your face is going to freeze that way."

In adulthood, you realize that maybe this really was true. Some people should have knocked off the silly faces. (Kidding...sort of.)

"You'll live."

I used to think this was like the worst adult thing to say. But now I've realized I just need to hear it on a daily basis. I request it actually. Every morning goes a little something like this. Alarm. Groan. "I don't want to go to work today. I want to sleep." Justin, "Oh, you poor thing. I don't know if you're going to be able to make it." Needless to say, I get up. And surprisingly, I live.

Parents and grown-ups don't say all these things because it's a rite of passage into adulthood. They say it because they have lived for years. They are tired. They are working. They talk to people who won't just stop it. They make money and hand it out like candy. They put on flannel pajamas and it feels like heaven. 

And the words fly out naturally, usually through a gaping door that was left open.