Thank You Cards

I just want to thank my blog readers (sis and bro-in-law and kids) for sticking with me.  I think it’s important to be grateful and to express your thanks.  But I have a tricky relationship with “thank you cards.”  Getting a note in the mail is special nowadays.   I remember when I was little and would write letters to friends, and family, and they would write me back.  I even had a pen pal from Australia.  AND we wrote letters with pencils and paper and stuck them in paper envelopes, and licked that sticky part of the envelope. One time, I even got creative with my letter and put a bunch of one cent stamps on the envelope (to decorate the envelope while stamping it at the same time) because I did cute things way before Pinterest was invented, and that letter came back to me because apparently the post office didn’t know about Pinterest ideas yet, and they wouldn’t accept it.  We all have fond memories of getting a special handwritten letter in the mail.   Those hand written notes have become rarer.   Except, I feel like people are still hanging on to handwritten” thank you” notes.  I should be happy, but I’ve discovered that they are somewhat anticlimactic.  Just picture this…I go to open my mail box, and there it is, a beautiful, little, rectangular envelope with my name and address written across the middle!  I take it out of the box, and into the house, and make sure I’m alone so that I can enjoy this moment.  I carefully open the envelope and then close it again.  Am I dreaming?  Do I really have a handwritten letter in my hand in 2016? I put the letter down, just to ponder on this fact.   I decide not to read it just yet.   For the rest of the day, I've got an extra pep in my step, knowing what awaits me.  By that evening, I decide the time is right.  Then I grab the letter again.  I’m ready.  I open the envelope, and ever so carefully I pull out the delicate card.  I close my eyes and picture what the inside will say.  Then I take a deep breath and open it, and read, “Thank for the diapers.  They will come in handy.  Love- Becky.”  And not only was that note anticlimactic, but it reminded me of what a boring gift giver I am.  Recently, I got a thank you card for a wedding I attended.  That card said, “Thanks for the candle.  It’s so nice in our home.”  You wasted ink and paper on that “thank you”?  You might as well have added, “And we’re really grateful that you didn’t spend that much money on us because you’ve taught us a great lesson on being cheap, I mean, frugal.  And that’s a good lesson for newlyweds.  Love- Jack and Jill” And honestly, I’m pretty sure that I gave them a basket with a candle included in it.  But the candle was the only thing that made it on the card.  Ouch! Thanks for letting me vent blog readers.  I’m really grateful to you.

Do That Thing You Fear Most and the Death of Fear is Certain!

"Do that thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain." 
- Mark Twain

I just found this quote on FB.  It reminded me of the other day when I took my kids to a Flea Market.  One booth was selling blow up plastic thingies (swords, dolls and what not...).  Since this booth belonged to a good friend of mine, I told my kids they could each get one (to support her).  My son picked the big green alien blow up doll that stood taller than him.  Frankly, I was creeped out by it, but it was his choice, so we got it.  By the end of the day, you'd have thought my son was Toy Story's Andy and the alien was Woody. My kid spent all afternoon with this alien.  He gave him a shoulder ride.  He might've even given him a high five.  They probably have a secret hand shake.  That night, when I went to check on him after he had fallen asleep, the big green alien was standing nice and close to my son's bed, keeping an eye on him.  It was at this moment that I felt proud of my son.  I realized just how brave he was.  Who puts a creepy alien right next to their bed at night, a.k.a., who stares fear in the face and says "Do your worst!"?  My son does, that's who!  Maybe he claims to not be brave, because the alien never creeped him out, but I know he's just being modest.  This alien creeps everyone out!  My friend even apologized to me as we made our purchase at her booth.  And then I discovered a lesson at that moment, "What if we could go through life like this?  Giving our fears shoulder rides and inviting them to watch us while we sleep?" (this should not apply to people who have a fear of robbers or tsunamis).  For example, I don't like chemicals.  What if I grabbed a bottle of weed killer and carried it around all day like it was my little buddy.  Or what if I put a bottle of Draino next to my bed at night ,and glued little google eyes on the bottle, and then just let it stare at me while I slept at night?  Or what if you had a fear of poisonous spiders and you gave them shoulder rides and let them sleep by your bed...actually I feel like this lesson shouldn't apply to all fears.  I would say if you have a fear of nice puppies then this could be safe.  Okay maybe this is a work in progress...  Until I figure it out,  remember what Mark Twain said, "Do that thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain."  And also talk to a parent or  trusted adult before you "do that thing you fear most..."   And also make sure that thing you fear is legal.  And if your fear is a real alien, I might not recommend facing that fear. 

Short Term Memory Loss

Short term memory loss...many people can relate to it.  For example, have you ever walked upstairs to get something, and instead of getting that something, you spotlessly cleaned a room, and then came back downstairs without that "something?"  Or have you ever exchanged names with a new acquaintance only to forget their name one second after they said it?  Okay, who am I kidding, I don't even listen to their answer (name) in the first place.  Well, recently I had the ultimate short term memory loss moment.  As I was walking through our shopping mall,  I spotted a cellular phone ad in the form of a lifesize cardboard cut-out of a man.   I recognized this as a cardboard cut out, and kept walking.  As I got nearer to the cardboard man, my subconscious forgot what I had just seen, and out of the corner of my eye I saw this man who looked like he was trying to sell something.  I instantly made a mental note to not make eye contact with him, and then I remembered it was just that cardboard cutout from two seconds ago.  This experience caused me to giggle to myself.  I thought it was kind of cute that I did that.  But then I couldn't remember why I was giggling or why I thought I was so cute.  So I looked around me to see what was so funny, and I saw this man staring me down like he was going to strike up a conversation and I was like, "I'm a married woman!"  And then I realized that it was the cardboard cutout again.  And this time I started laughing out loud to myself until I noticed a guy giving me a very friendly look and I was like, "Back off!  I don't talk to strangers," which is totally not true, I talk to strangers all the time.  In fact, strangers are my best friends because they don't know me that well.  They only see my first impression, which is amazing, and then they want more, but really, if they get more then they start to think they got more than they bargained for.  But seriously, the first hour with me could change your life.  But then if you keep hanging out with me you easily will be thinking, "she's not that great, I'm actually kind of bored." So you see why I love strangers so much, but not this particular stranger.  He had an unusual look about him, and then I realized that he was that crazy stalker cardboard cut out, and I got a good laugh out of that....and I don't remember where I was going with this.

(The first time I forgot that it was a cardboard cut out is true:))

Cool

Yesterday my 13 year old asked me if college was fun.  And I was like, "It was amazing!!"  He also asked me if I was "cool" or something like that.  And I was all, "No der! What else?"  And I went on to tell him a couple of "cool" stories during my college years to prove it.  And he was like, "Oh."  I don't think he was too impressed, and I had to wonder if I had convinced him.  As I was still thinking about it, I'm sure he had long since moved on.  In fact, I think he pretty much forgot that I went to college five minutes after the conversation ended.

So the next day while the kids were at school, I pulled out my college photo albums to see if I looked "cool" enough.  I found a picture of me and a friend with dental floss that had gone through our nose and out our mouth.  Pretty cool, but not good enough....  Then there's a picture of me working at Taco Time.  There's also one of me eating at Taco Time.  Oh, and there I am standing in front of Taco Time.  There's a picture that shows me eating and studying for a test at Taco Time.  How about the picture of me getting soda while making a funny face at Taco Time. There's the picture of me asking my boss for a raise at Taco Time.  There I am welcoming the new employee at Taco Time.  Oh there's the picture of me giving bunny ears to my co worker, ha ha (classic).  Or what about this one where I'm rolling my eyes at the rude customer...good times!  

So I'm starting to think I should edit my college album.  Maybe I could put together a "cool" one to show my kids.  I could definitely still use the fabric and lace covered album to make it look authentic.  But I don't have to include every picture, right?  A little less Taco Time perhaps?

And then a thought occurred to me.  Instead of showing my "cool" pictures, I could show the pictures of me being nice, or pictures of me making good choices in college?  Pictures of me with my arms around good friends.  Visiting home during the summer and reconnecting with the siblings I used to fight with:). Pictures that show I was not obsessed with the way I looked (I really didn't care in college and it was refreshing).  Pictures of me and my mom when she came to visit for a special "Women's Week" at college.  The picture of me and my friend next to the Wal-Mart greeter who was famous for his "Welcome."  A picture of a group of us in our church clothes after a lovely service.  And the picture of me eating and studying at Taco Time.

Was I "cool"?  I don't know.   Was college amazing?  Absolutely!  I'm glad my son asked about my college years.  And I actually don't really know if he asked me if I was "cool."  I'm pretty sure I just started talking about that because I was trying to prove something to my teenage son.  Maybe he really asked, "Did you make good choices?" while I was thinking about impressing him.  And I should have just left it at "No der!  What else?"

Drama Queen? You decide!

I wouldn’t say I’m a drama queen.  There are a lot of areas in my life where I don’t want drama.  But I have some places where I certainly don’t mind it.  I like it in my books and movies.  For example, I prefer Jane Eyre over Pride and Prejudice.   And I like to cry really hard in a movie.  I also don’t mind some drama when I’m running races, as long as it serves my purposes.  Like if I’m not as fast as I’d like to be I appreciate a good obstacle/drama that I can blame my pace on.  For example, one time I ran a race in really hot weather.  My time was slower than my previous races, but who could blame me with that heat?  Then I ran a race even slower than the previous ones including the hot one, but I had an injury, and I was hungry and cold.   I even had proof that I was hungry and cold.  I begged food off of a volunteer and got another volunteer to take the sweatshirt off of his back for me.  Then I ran a race and got my personal best time.  So I didn’t need an obstacle that day.

Last week I did another race.  The weather was perfect, I didn’t have an injury, and I had done this race before (it was the hot one).  As I was nearing the finish line, I could see that I wasn’t going to set a personal record.  Heck, I wasn’t even going to beat my time when I ran it in hot weather!  I almost finished that race without any drama/excuses.  And then it happened, I fell down on my face and got scratched up.

Come to think of it, if it wasn’t me, I’d be suspicious about this obstacle and how genuine it was.  Was this fall really an accident?  Or was I desperate for a story?   Consider the cause of this fall as we contemplate just how much truth there is to my “obstacle:” A Watermelon slice.  That’s right, that’s how it all went down (literally).  There is plenty of water and Gatorade to be had, and even orange slices and bananas.  But watermelon is a rare find.  The first time I spotted it, I went for it, but missed it.  I kept running and promised myself that if I saw that precious fruit again, I would not miss it.  It took some time, but eventually there was another person handing out watermelon.  I was in the middle of the street and the watermelon was on the right side.  I had to do some fancy moving, which didn’t end up being fancy, and while I reached for the watermelon, I took a tumble. Innocent?  I don’t know.  It would be one thing if my knees were scratched, and my face, or one shoulder.  But knees, face, one side of a shoulder, and the other side of the other shoulder.  That just doesn’t sound like a natural fall.  How do you scratch up both shoulders?  Sounds suspicious.  It’s almost like I went home and put some makeup on my other shoulder and showed my husband that I’ve discovered more scratches.  I’m surprised I didn’t wake up the next morning and say, “And look!  Now I have these braces and a headgear!  I don’t know how it happened! It must’ve been from that crazy fall during the race.”

Just watch out if I report that some “anonymous” clown comes out of the crowd and smashes a pie in my face during my next race.  I’d keep my eye on me if I wasn’t me.  I’m confused; I think I need a good movie to clear my head.  Now where did I put that Jane Eyre DVD? 

Safety

One Sunday, after church, I was getting my kids in the car to go home.  I got in the driver's seat and let my kids get in by themselves.  I think it's good to teach independence to kids at a young age, especially when you don't feel like helping them get in a car.  And it's good to teach them how to buckle themselves up at a young age, because buckling kids up is boring for adults.  But it's got to be done, so teach them how to do it at a young age.  Tell them that it's a game, or, tell them that they're "so big" because they can buckle themselves up, and they'll love that so much!  Don't tell them that you're just bored with buckling them up, because they might think that you don't care about safety.  And we all know that safety is important!

And speaking of safety, I did have a wake up call to safety as I was getting in my car (after church), and my kiddos were all climbing in.  My two year old was still outside of the car and I let the bigger kids help her in the car.  Meanwhile, someone climbed into the passenger seat up front and shut the door.  All of a sudden, I saw my husband (who was talking to a friend just outside of the church building), sprint towards my car!  And I do mean SPRINT!  And the look on his face said, "Danger!"  I was confused because I did not hear any alarming sounds coming from the people in my car.  Things seemed to be calm on our end.  But my husband's sprinting motion, and the crazed look on his face said, "Things are not calm!!!"  And I just thought "Why is he was sprinting so hard?" and "Who's hurt?"  and "Why isn't anyone acting hurt?" and "What is going through his friend's head?" (who he just ditched), and "All of those runs he's been going on have really paid off" and "Why isn't anyone crying really loud?"   And you might think that with all of these thoughts going through my head, that my husband is not a fast sprinter.  Because I was able to think a lot while my husband was "sprinting" to the car.  And you might be thinking that maybe he should give up sprinting and stick with speed walking.  But he is fast.  

So when he finally got to the car, I mean, when he got to the car in what seemed like a half a second, he let us in on the mystery.  When someone shut the door that my two year old was standing by, he thought her hand was stuck in the door.  And he was going to save her!  And we started laughing at the whole situation.  When we drove away, I commented on how fast Dad was.  My six year old said, "When Dad runs a marathon, you should have a picture of a baby whose hand is stuck in a door, in front of him.  And then he'll run fast."  I thought that was a great idea.  But this  was problematic, because, we wouldn't want to ask someone to pose for this picture.  That's just not safe.  And safety is important!

I Need to Learn Another Language

The other day I was at my daughter's basketball and I saw a friend of mine there watching her daughter who was on the opposing team.  I really like to have fun social experiences with friends, but I think it's awkward when your daughters are playing against each other.  I should say awkward when there is at least one competitive person (me) who is trying to act like I'm not competitive at all.  I don't know if I pulled it off.  For example, I was probably a little too enthusiastic about her daughter making baskets.  I clapped and smiled and looked at my friend to make sure she knew I was clapping.  The score was too close for comfort for me at one point.  And then after half time, we pulled way ahead.  I noticed there wasn't a lot of conversation going on between me and my friend.  But she did make a comment that our team has some very strong personalities amongst our parents.  There is one dad in particular, who is very vocal, even at practice, and he happened to be sitting right behind her.  But I got self conscious and basically wanted to prove that we weren't one of "strong personalities."  When my husband would yell some advice out to my daughter, like, "Who are you guarding?  Find your person!"  I was like, "Lighten up dude!  It's just a game!  As long as she's having fun…and stuff" and then I looked at my friend and smiled, to reassure her that I don't care what happens in this game.  But I'm secretly totally on board with my hubby.  This is when I realized that I needed to learn another language.  Then I can communicate to my basketball player what I'm really thinking, while pretending to be a chill, easy going, sports parent.  For example, I could yell, "Deplacer!!" with a huge smile, while holding a sign that says, "Just as long as you're having fun!  Everyone's a winner!"  But before the game, I'll teach Susie that "Deplacer!!" is French for "Move!!" And I'm pretty sure I'll get away with it, because I don't know anyone here who speaks French.  

On another note, I mentioned to my friend that we have a set of triplets on the team, which is always good material for an interesting conversation.  But her response was like, "Oh…."  and then I thought, "Now what do I say?"   I know!  I'll ask her if she's a triplet… That could break the ice a little.  Or at least it would distract her from the fact that I was thinking, "I hope we win this game by 100 points!!"

Delusional

I think I'm a little delusional.  For example, sometimes I think I'm still really young and then I find myself  driving home from the store and I feel like I want to pull over and take a nap, because I'm too tired to drive 10 more minutes. That is a moment I realize I'm not so young.  Or I'll be having a conversation with someone about age and I'll ask them to guess mine, and they guess my age right on the dot.   I hate that.  I don't even accept when they take two years off of my age.  Not acceptable.  I want 7 or more years off, or the conversation wasn't even worth it.  I'm also delusional about my agility and gymnastics skills.  But then my two year old came up to me and asked me to help her do a "handspring."  So I picked up that little two year old body and flipped her around and she said, "Thanks Mom."  And I'm thinking, "Anytime, that's what I do! I flip kids around, because I'm young and agile."  And then she said, "Can you do a handspring?"  And I said, "yes" and did my version of a "handspring."  Then she sweetly responded, "You can't?!  I help you!"  And in my mind, I'm like, "I just did one!"  But it's cool.  

Being delusional is kind of sweet.  It gives us a moment of peace, confidence, whatever…until reality hits us.  But we don't need reality hitting us all the time.  We just need it sometimes.  I'll never forget being in a math class in college, and we got our graded tests back and the girl in front of me totally flunked the test, and she said, "I thought I did well on this test."  And I was like, "How could you have thought you did well when you flunked?!" (didn't say it out loud).  I would understand if she had gotten a C and said, "I thought I would at least get a B."  But then I have to think, "What a great attitude she had!"  And she had, like, two days where she was excited about doing well on a test.  That's better than taking the test, being sad about doing a poor job and then getting the test back and remembering you did a poor job.  Who am I to mock her delusional thinking?  We could all use a little delusional thinking once in a while.

So today, I will be delusional:  I am young, and not tired.  I am a gorgeous!  I am brilliant!  I am confident!  And I'll let you know if reality tells me something different.

Classy Trash

Today, I was throwing a birthday party for my daughter.  It’s good for me to host things at my house every once in awhile because it whips me into shape, and I clean my house really well, and I put picture frames on the wall, and I buy a couch for people to sit on, and my kids wear stuff other than PJs for a minute, etc.  So today, before the party I was tidying up the front lawn.  There were a few bits of garbage and items that didn’t belong on a nice front lawn.  I noticed how much rubbish there was (I like to say big words like “rubbish” right before hosting a party, so I can be prepared to sound smart).  And as I’m picking it up, I’m thinking how all this rubbish doesn’t look very classy, so really, it’s a good thing I’m picking it up.  Then I saw a piece of dental floss on our patio, and I was like, “Wait!  Do I remove this?  Because, sure, it belongs in the garbage, but what does it say about us?  It says that we floss and we don’t just casually floss, we floss so much that it even ends up on our front porch sometimes.  How much classier can we be?!  Not much!"  So I concluded that there is such thing as classy trash.  But I threw it away and I just hope that people feel the classy vibe.  And I kind of regret throwing that piece of floss away.  But I am not digging that out of the trash.  I don’t care how much classy trash is in there. 

Burger

The other evening my family (and I) went to my oldest daughter’s softball game.  We enjoyed some burgers and fries from a local joint.  During the game, I was pitching a tennis ball to my middle daughter and some boys from other families joined the fun.  While playing, my five year old approached me with a half eaten burger, handing it to me, letting me know that he was finished.  So I have my moments when I’m not picky with food.  Like I don’t have problem with kid’s goobers, and kid hands touching my food.  My pickiness usually has more to do with the quality of ingredients.  So my five year old hands me his half eaten burger, and before ten seconds pass, I take a bite of that burger.  No problem, it was a good quality burger.  One little kid immediately tells me that he saw that burger fall on the ground.  I was conflicted.  I wanted to look like a responsible adult, who makes responsible decisions, but seriously, it tasted just fine to me.  But, I nodded my head, like, I knew what I had to do.  Of course you throw this burger away!  Whatevs!  As I walked away from him to “throw” the burger away, I kept looking back at him, nodding like I totally agreed with him, and this burger was history, aka, about to be trashed!  But I totally wanted that burger, and I still had a bite in my mouth, so I chewed slowly and savored it.  Then I looked back at the clean-freak kid, and nodded again and then pointed to the burger and gave it a thumbs down!  There was no way I was going to eat a burger that was on the ground.  At least that’s what I hoped this kid would tell his parents and then they would totally think that I was a responsible parent.  Meanwhile, I’m still loving me some burger, secretly.  Then the moment comes, when I’m faced with the trashcan.  I look back and sure enough, this kid is keeping his eye on me.  Good grief, go jump in a puddle, or play tag with a friend, or better yet, find a piece of ABC gum and live a little!   Finally, I swallowed my bite and trashed the rest of the “contaminated” burger, and tried to enjoy the rest of my daughter’s softball game, with the “Clean Burger Police” breathing down my neck!