The End Of The Road

This weekend we had the opportunity to spend time with some great friends that we don’t get to see very often. It was so much fun. Reminded me how important it is to have good people in my life.

We were gathered around a fire pit telling stories and laughing until 4:00 in the morning! I knew it was late, I knew we should go but I couldn’t pull myself away.  Even knowing I would pay for the lack of sleep, I just didn’t want the night to end.

I’ve always been that way. I’m the girl that stays for the credits. I’m the girl that’s still on the dance floor when the lights come on. I’m the girl that feels slightly disappointed every time I finish a good book. I’m the girl that listens to favorite songs on repeat. I’m the girl that talks the group into Denny’s, just because I want more time.

I’m the girl that’s never been good with endings.

It’s especially hard for me when I feel things are left incomplete. I need closure and resolution. I want everything to be nice and clean. And tied with a little bow.

I struggle when it’s not.

I guess that’s why I feel compelled to let you know I’m closing this blog.

I've loved sharing my life with you. I've loved sharing  my joys, disappointments, struggles and insecurities. I hope as you read this, you could hear me. I hope you feel that you got to see me as the person I am - an imperfect, loud-mouth girl that's

awkward

ornery

passionate

goofy

bitchy

sensual

spirited

but mostly just awkward.

Of all the things I am, good and bad, I hope that what came across the most was that I am grateful.  I have been blessed beyond measure to have a wonderful family, two beautiful girls, and some amazing friends - all who love me. What more could I ask from life when I have that?

Thank you for taking the time to visit my blog and read my ramblings. I hope you found some mild entertainment in it. Or perhaps just a reason to say "At least my life's more together than that." Either way, thanks for being part of the journey.

I wish you nothing but love and happiness, today and forever...

Message In A Breakfast

God is so good.  He really, really is.

I decided to grab breakfast this morning. I had barely enough time but I decided to throw caution to the wind and go for it. Plus, I was really hungry.

It was a split drive-through. Those are always kinda a gamble.  In theory it should be every other person to a lane but lots of places have two people taking orders at the same time so sometimes it just depends.

So I played "eenie meenie miney mo", picked a lane and hoped it was the faster one.

The lady in the next lane got done ordering almost at the same time I did so we both pulled forward together.  She was actually already ahead of me so I paused. Then she paused. So I waved her on ahead of me.

Immediately I regretted it. I was in a hurry and I could have saved time by going first.

When she got to the window she took a while to pay and seemed extra chatty. In my mind I was thinking "Let's go, let's go, wrap it up. I could have already been on my way to work by now."

Then it was my turn.  I pull up and they tell me the lady paid for my breakfast!

Here I was being so impatient yet it took her more time because she was doing something nice for me!  Talk about a lesson in humility.

I just felt that it was God's way of reminding me how to move through life. A reminder to be kinder, more understanding and more patient.  So many times in life we react to what's "happening" to us without fulling understanding the big picture or recognizing how it might even be a benefit to us.

Of course I decided to pay it forward so I paid for the guy behind me.  It took her a minute to pull it up and as she did so I looked in my mirror and caught is face.  He wore the same expression I'm sure I had just a few minutes before - like "What is this lady doing?"  I smiled and thought to myself "Hold on - good things are coming!"

I'm sure God has directed that same message to me a million times.

But how often do I listen?

I think sometimes I get so mired down in the guilt of my sins that I don't hear it because I don't believe I'm worthy of receiving his blessings.

But it's amazing because His love isn't conditional. Of course I'm a wretched, awful person - but God already knows that! And He loves me anyway, without qualification.

That's what love is.

I didn't find out if the guy behind me was a "good" guy before buying his breakfast. I didn't check to make sure he met my requirements or passed my test. I didn't know his background, his struggles or his deepest shame. And the lady that bought my breakfast knew nothing of me either (or she might have thought twice). All she knew was that she wanted to take care of a stranger.

Isn't it amazing that even knowing ALL our dirt, that's what God wants too?

Phone Home

I grab my phone and head to the mailroom.

I don't normally take my phone to the mailroom. It's like 17 steps away from my office and I can't think of a reason that I would need it. I mean, I've never gotten any mail that made me so excited I had the urge to immediately whip out my phone and call someone. "OH MY GOSH!  Guess what I got? An...invoice! Eeeeek!"

But I was waiting for an important call that I didn't want to miss. And by important call I mean I was waiting for a girlfriend to call me back so I could share an incredibly catty but accurate observation.  That's definitely carry-phone-around worthy, right?

I didn't get any mail but I did have to pee. So I duck into the bathroom, which is right across from the mailroom.

I step into the stall and...uhhhh, the phone. I could put it on the toilet paper holder but...gross. I'm not a huge germophobe but these bathrooms are too disgusting for me to lay my phone down anywhere. I mean, we're talking about something that I put near my mouth. No.

I consider for a second walking back to my office (about 17 steps, remember?) to put my phone up but I'm too lazy for all that so I did the next logical thing.

I just stuck it down my bra.

I don't normally use my bra as a purse. Besides the occasional piece of food, nothing goes in there except my boobs. Because let's face it - they may be tired and saggy but they still deserve a space all their own.

So I've got my phone stuck in my bra. I don't want to pull it out until after I wash my hands. Because that kinda defeats the whole purpose of sticking it in with the girls in the first place.

As soon as I'm done washing my hands and am about to reach in and rescue my phone, someone comes into the bathroom. I thought it would seem weird to just awkwardly stand there and wait for them to go in to the stall so in a moment of brilliance I decide to just take it out when I get back to my office - 17 steps away.

17 steps. What could go wrong, right?

About 5 steps into my journey I see him. My favorite IT guy, who happens to chat with me every time we run into each other. American Horror Story episode reviews, building home dilemas or motorcycle talk - I've never seen him that we didn't have a conversation.

I'm like a deer in the headlights. I freeze and try to plot my escape. It's too late to duck into the bookstore...we've already made eye contact. Maybe I could just get away with a nod and a smile. Nope, he's zeroing in...here we go...

So we begin a little chitchat. Well, I'm not really chatting or listening because I'm having this little internal dialog with myself. How awkward is this? I'm having a conversation while my phone is IN MY BRA. Women do this all the time, it's not weird! It is weird, it's totally weird.  I wonder if he can tell... Surely not...What if it's poking out and making a bump?  Like I have some weird lumpy boob thing. My cleavage!  What if it's sticking out the top of my shirt? Oh my God, it probably is. I knew this shirt was too low! I should look...can I look without being obvious? Is that weird? Will he think I'm checking myself out? I could just look down like I'm looking down at the - 

I was suddenly interuppted by a soft buzzing.

Oh. That isn't. It can't be. Please Lord, no.... 

Oh but it is.

My phone, that is in my bra smashed up against my boob, is vibrating.

Oh my god! What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

So I reacted like I do in any uncomfortable situation...I ignore it.

But seriously, what could I do? And I'm genuinely asking - in case it ever happens again. I've ruled out saying "Excuse me a minute" and reaching in there and pulling it out so you'll have to come up with something else...

There was a slight pause but I just looked at him and kept smiling so he kept talking...while my phone continued to buzz.  Oh my god, will this phone ever quiet ringing?  Why does it keep ringing? Go to voicemail, go to voicemail!

I half-heartedly tried to convince myself that maybe he thought it was coming from my pocket. But I am 100% sure he knew.

So never again. I don't care how good the gossip is...the phone stays in the office!

Rock Me Baby

Our front door was installed!  It looks better than I had hoped and I love it. So, super excited about that.

Hubby was excited too.  So excited that he insisted it be covered in plastic to protect it.

At first I was confused. Protect...our door? From like, what? Rain? Sunlight? Because I'm pretty sure the door is going to meet the elements. I could be wrong but I think that's like a requirement of doors nowadays.

No, the real plan was to protect the doors from the brick guys, who will be finishing up tomorrow. And will be working around the door. Yeah, THAT makes a lot more sense.

So it's about 8 at night and we're on our way home when he announces that we're going to swing by "real quick" to put up this plastic.

I don't know how it keeps happening, but I keep getting appointed as his helper. The fact that I don't have any kind of mechanical skill, can't identify tools and generally just get in his way doesn't seem to phase him.  He keeps appointing me.

My "job" this time is to hold the ladder. There are all kinds of brick debris around the house and in front of the door, exactly where he needs to be. Instead of moving any of it, we just plunk the ladder down on top of the rubble. So it's nice and secure.

Than the man who is over 80 pounds heavier than me climbs up on this ladder and I'm supposed to hold it and keep it from falling over.

Sounds like a great plan.

It was actually going fine until M came over with a bag of pretzels.

Did I mention that it was 8 and I hadn't eaten dinner and was starving?

So of course, when she offered me some I wasn't going to turn them down.

I'm scarfing down pretzels like I hadn't eaten in a million years and he's doing whatever it was that he was doing and it all seemed to be going so well.

Until he shifted his weight and the ladder rocked kinda violently.

"Are you holding the ladder?"

"Yes....kinda...mostly?"

"What do you mean, mostly?  Are you holding the ladder or not?"

"Well, M came by with some pretzels so - "

"You let go of the ladder to eat pretzels?"

"Well, yeah. They're really good pretzels. Like really good. When you get done you should have some. Seriously, you gotta try these. So good."

And that folks is how I lost my coveted position as helper...

Sleepless Beauty

I'm in a mood.

I feel cranky and irritable and not very nice.

It's because I haven't gotten enough sleep the last few days.  I'm a night owl by nature so I'm used to operating on minimal sleep - what's killing me is interrupted sleep. Which actually feels worse than no sleep at all. 

And it's all my husband's fault. 

That boy is the lightest sleeper on the planet. Once he goes to bed he develops this weird super sonic hearing and any little thing will wake him up. I swear, breathing too hard could do it. Once I was in the living room and I mistakenly unfolded a bag of chips. That was actually a mistake for a lot of reasons but I digress...He stumbles in about 2 seconds after I touch the bag, "What are you doing? What's all that racket?" And I promise  you, this was not some special extra noisy bag - those weren't on sale - this was just a regular bag of chips. A regular bag of chips That. Woke. Him. Up. 

So you can imagine how much fun I have sneaking into the room to go to bed. For a normal person, maybe it isn't so hard but I have the loudest walk. Like 10,000 elephants stampeding loud. I walk hard and heavy. And not quietly. 

It's also super fun when we have storms at night. Guess who is  up all night tossing and turning? All. Night. Long.

I, on the other hand, can sleep through just about anything. Sirens, trains, storms, a semi blowing through the living room - I'm out. You'll have to tell me about it in the morning.

You know what will wake me up though? FLOPPING AROUND!

So I'm in desperate need of a nap.

And an attitude adjustment.

Water Works

So this happened this weekend...

Yes, that would be water.

In our new house.

The water was turned on and the plumber came out to check for leaks.  We had one.  BUT he thought it was fixed.  Until we show up at the house to standing water.  And guess who isn't answering their phone?  Anyone? Anyone?

The plumber! Ding, ding, ding - we have a winner!

He did finally return our call - he was out of town and not getting calls. Which worked out perfectly for him because by the time he called I had already spent all day vacuuming it up.

And cursing him under my breath the whole time.

Wanna Be Taco

With tournaments, Mother's Day, graduation and having company we have eaten out more the last week then we usually do all month.  Seriously, it's like every meal has come from a restaurant.

That's an observation, not a complaint.

Because that means I didn't have to cook or do dishes. Yes - double win! *happy dance*

It is unfortunate though because all this eating out has brought to my attention that I've got to bump our favorite mexican restaurant.  We found this little place that I thought was going to be our go-to place.  But the last few times we've gone it's been...not so great.

This last time, it was just bad. 

I wasn't very hungry so I just ordered a taco a la carte. This is what they brought:

That's it.

Meat in a shell.

I mean, yeah I didn't want rice or beans but can you throw some lettuce in there? Maybe even a little cheese?

This...this is just a sad little shell with some brown stuff thrown in. It is NOT a taco. And don't even go there with the authentic mexican food thing...this isn't an authentic mexican food restaurant.  This is american mexican food restaurant where everything is smothered in a pile of cheese.

Except for tacos, which aren't smothered in anything.

The real deal breaker though was that the chips were burnt. I thought maybe the first time it was just a fluke thing. But no, these were burnt too. And I'm sorry but I just can't go to a place that doesn't get the chips right.  I mean, chips are like 90% of what I love about mexican food.

So the search for favorite local mexican restaurant begins now...

Biscuit Legs

So I took the cooler weather as an opportunity to wear boots one last time. I love boots.  I originally discovered this during my I Hate My Legs phase.  I have ugly legs – they are thick and unshapely. They literally look like a stove pipe. A fat, fleshy stove pipe.

Very similar to this:

Like this, only flesh. And with varicose veins.

In an attempt to downplay this unfortunate feature, I spent a few years wearing dresses that were long enough to cover the majority of my legs.  As a non-Mormon and woman under the age of 80, you can imagine how difficult it was to find cute dresses that met that criteria.

Boots were my solution. My legs were hid, the dresses were cute and all was right with the world.

I’m over all that now.

I mean, I still have ugly legs. I just no longer care that they’re ugly. I'm on to better things, like hating my stomach.

But I still love a cute boot.

So I whip out some boots and…I can’t get the damn things zipped.

I have gained enough weight that my boots no longer fit.

Do you hear me people, I'm too fat for my boots!!

This is a serious new low.

But I am wearing these damn boots!

So I decide to literally stuff myself into them. I'm just going to stuff the fat into the boots. Zip a little, stuff a little, zip a little, stuff a little. Until I finally managed to get them zipped up almost the entire way.  The last little bit required assistance from a few items I found in the kitchen but by God, they were zipped!

About 2:00 p.m. I noticed some tightness. A little squeezing on my legs. Like they were wrapped just a little too snug.  It wasn’t painful, just mildly annoying.

By 4:00 p.m., all I wanted to do was unzip those damn boots and relieve the pressure. My legs looked like a can of biscuits had exploded.  The fat was literally puffing up and over the boots. This cute look had definitely gone awry.

The minute I got in the car I unzipped those suckers. I did it so fast I had both boots done before the car door even closed. It felt so good, it hurt.

Other than an indention across the front of my leg where the boot seam had been, everything seemed fine. I went home, made a mental note to Google “Boots for stove pipe legs” and threw them in the very back of the closet.

The next morning, as I’m running the razor up my leg, I hit something hard.  What the hell?

I have my leg hiked up on the wall so I bend forward to get a close look and I see a row of blisters. Those boots were so tight I am amazed that there was enough room for any kind of friction but apparently there was…and I have the blisters to prove it.

My fat blistery legs in all their stove pipe glory

I could cry about being so fat that my boots are rubbing wounds on my legs. Or I could just decide that I’m going to burn those freakin boots while I eat a box of chocolate donuts. I'll let you know what I decide...

Observations From The Deep Side

I'm sure you didn't notice but I've been trying to do a Monday, Wednesday, Friday post. For no particular reason except that I'm trying to bring some consistency into all areas of my life.

So far, I've done...okay.

I've missed a few days and it gets a little tricky when I post late at night because if it's past midnight it's technically the next day.

Like Monday, I didn't get to the computer until late because I was busy fighting tornadoes.

Okay, actually just the threat of tornadoes.

After our zoo adventure (which was fantabulous, by the way), we picked up M and went home. The girls were outside playing, I was cleaning and the tv was off. We had only been home about 15 minutes when the hubby called about bad weather.

If you're from this state, you know to expect bad weather. I've never really freaked out about tornadoes.  They're very dangerous and can be deadly but it's just part of living here.

It's a little bit different living in a tin can though.

We had storms last week and the entire place felt like it was about to tip over - and that was just strong wind. I can't even imagine if something serious were to come along.

So I called the girls in, we packed our "survival bags" and went to the designated city shelter, aka the high school.

That was an interesting experience.

Since there wasn't an immediate threat (although it was a bit unsettling when the sirens went off. Just a warning siren but still, there is something ominous about that sound) and there were people camped out in the hallways I took that as an opportunity for some random observations.

1. I was disciplining M2 and made my "Not A Happy Mommy Face" - this is a finely crafted expression that includes big, open eyes and thin, pursed lips and words that are clipped and Spoken. Like. Separate. Sentences.

I originally signed up for the "How To Make Not A Happy Mommy Face 101" while I was still in the hospital immediately after giving birth. Everyone said it was too soon but I was determined to prove them wrong. Unfortunately, I couldn't do it. Each time I would try, it turned into the "Awwww, She's So Little & Perfect Face". The instructor gave me a disgusted look, a failing grade and told me to come back when she began talking. I was back when she was 3 and I not only passed but was asked to be a guest instructor. I have that face down. 

So during the exchange, a girl sitting next to us was watching me intently.  Without taking her eyes off of me, she says to M "Your Mom..." and I"m sure she's about to say "is mean" or something like that but then I hear her finish with "has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen." And without missing a beat M says "Oh, you should see my Dad's - his are even brighter!"  And while he does have some pretty baby blues, I'll be signing up for that  "Hey Don't Steal My Thunder Face" session next week.

2. For the love of God, if you're a woman who doesn't wear a bra inside the house, listen up! I happen to wholeheartedly agree with you. I walk in the door, set my purse on the desk, walk directly to the bedroom, take off my wedding ring and take off my bra. Then I take a deep breath and relax. FREEEEEDOM!

So we're cut from the same cloth. I get you. But here's the rule, and it's an important one, you MUST NOT under absolutely ANY circumstances walk out of your home that way.

Don't. Do. It.

You'll be tempted. You'll dread putting the bra back on. You'll wonder if you can disguise it with a baggy sweatshirt. You might even try to tell yourself no one will notice. NO, NO, NO. Have some decency, suck it up and put the girls away.

But there are always rebels.

This rebel was easy to spot because her boobs were literally swinging. They hung down lower than mine, which is an impressive feat in itself, but apparently were light enough to kinda...float. Like with every step there was this wild side to side circular type movement somewhere around her navel. I knew I shouldn't stare but I couldn't help it - it defied gravity.

Heavy enough to hang (and hang low) but light enough to swing in circles. How? How is that happening? I was mesmerized. And severely grossed out.

And I get that we had bad weather coming in but please, you had time to grab that bra. You know you did. But just in case, may I suggest that for the remainder of tornado season, just keep one near the front door. Or perhaps in the car? Even if you threw it on over your shirt, it's still gotta be better than nothing.

3. I saw a dirty toddler running down the hall in nothing but a baggy diaper. No shirt, no shoes - nothing. He was immediately followed by an identical copy. Same thing. Two dirty twin naked babies.  It was awful. The people that appeared to be "parents", and I use that word loosely, were both fully clothed and had shoes. Lucky them.

M looked at her friend with an appalled expression and said "Oh my gosh! Did you see those kids, they don't have anything on but diapers!"

Of course, I said "Honey, let's not be judgy. We're not gonna worry about what other people do."

Oh I was 100% judging them. But my goal as a parent is to create humans that are actually better than me.

Hypocritical?  Yes.

But at least I had my bra on...

Zoo Daze

Today was zoo day with M2.

School field trips are always interesting. It's like playing Russian Roulette - am I going to get extra kids?  Is it just gonna be me and my kid?

I'm always scanning the line - that one looks nice, I could do that one. And that one. That one's okay. Oh, there's  a booger eater - yeah let's skip that one. You're fine. You're fine. That one looks like they're about to cry - pass. You're good. Good. Good.

And then you land on the one. 

You know it immediately- the "bad" kid. I know you aren't supposed to say things like that about kids but the truth is some kids are just little shits. And they usually grow up to be big shits.

Please, please, please don't give me that one. 

So this morning I was pleasantly surprised to find no easily identifiable little shits. I'm thinking I've hit the holy grail. This. Is. Perfect. There isn't a bad one here - we are set!

I'm assigned a cute little blonde girl.  I try to talk to her but she isn't much of a talker. She actually kinda looks scared. Or a little nauseous. I couldn't decide.

Just as we're about to leave the teacher pulls us over and is about to say something when she looks at the girl, pauses and asks if she needs her inhaler.  This is mildly alarming.

Then she whips out this huge mask-like device. This is not just an inhaler. It's the Mercedes of inhalers. It's a MegaDelex Inhaler 53S. The teacher turns to me with a half-smile and says "Don't worry, she knows exactly how to use this." Which is good, because I don't.  It's also ironic since she assists her throughout the entire process.

Yeah....I'm thinking this is not a hands-off type activity.

And ya know, I'm not 100% comfortable having someone else's kid to begin with. There's just something I find inherently strange about being responsible for someone else's child. I gotta watch them and keep them safe...it has the potential to get messy.

So I'm really hesitant to be responsible for one that may need help breathing.

Especially since I would not have asked if she needed her inhaler. I wouldn't have known to - I didn't see anything that would make me think she needed it.

The teacher obviously saw something I didn't, which is concerning.  You wanna send this kid with someone that's not even observant enough to notice she's having trouble?

I did note the girl didn't tell her teacher she needed it, the teacher asked her. But why wouldn't the girl ask? If you're having trouble and you don't ask your teacher who you know, are ya gonna feel comfortable asking me?

So before we get too far from the responsible adults, we kinda need to figure out what we're doin here.  What's our code? Am I asking you every 10 minutes if you need your inhaler?  Am I waiting for you to ask me for it?  Or am I just supposed to wait until you're a slight shade of blue and then throw it at you with a "Good luck, kid" as I run away to find help?

The entire time she's inhaling into this contraption I'm thinking I do not want this kid to have an asthma attach when she is with me. Despite the misconception, I am not good under pressure. If something happens, there is no calm and collected. I'm gonna freak the hell out. And then crumble into a pile of uselessness.  Crisis, mini-crisis or even anything just mildly bad - I am not your girl.

Sure I'm capable of reaching into a bag and pulling out an inhaler and giving it to her. And if you give me 10 minutes I will Google the instructions and maybe even be capable of helping her to use it. It's the worst case, what if  things don't go right scenarios that were scaring me.

And the panic must have been evident in my face because after a few bad coughing fits the teacher decided it was better the child stayed with her for observation.

I think we can all agree that was for the best.

I mean really, I'm a 40 year old woman that still likes to ride the carousal - I can barely be trusted with myself...

Take Two: Part III

I have an update on my waxing experience.

I promise this will be last time I mention anything related to my lady parts for a while. But I got a terrible wax job.

You know how I was so happy that it didn't hurt that bad? Well, maybe it should have hurt. Maybe it didn't hurt because it didn't really work.

I don't really know what protocol is but I didn't look at the salon. I don't know, besides the fact that I was just trying to scramble to put my clothes back on, it seems kind of awkward to do a self-examination while someone is standing there.

So it wasn't until I got home and checked things out that I realized things did not look so great. I look down and it's immediately What is this??

She may have been thorough with my backside but she definitely wasn't with the front. And that's the only part I care about. They are supposed to pluck out any stray hairs - and she did. Like two. Oh honey, nooooooo there was way more than two there.

And you have to grow it out to have it waxed, so it's not like they could be missed. Those suckers are obvious. And ridiculous looking.

So I ended up with something similar to this:

Pretty, huh?



*In case you don't know, that's a picture of Stimpy from the late 90's cartoon Ren & Stimpy. Which I was not allowed to watch but somehow managed to watch anytime I was at a friend's house.  It was totally inappropriate so we loved it. 

Easy Bake. Or Not.

Okay, so that was heavy.

I promise to keep it superficial and meaningless for a while to let you recover. I mean, who wants to hear about a bunch of serious stuff, right?

So this house.

First, let me just say I am grateful. I really, truly am.

You know I have to say that because everything else I'm about to say is going to sound like I'm complaining, right?

So we go to look at appliances. Two hours. In one store.

I should have known I was in over my head when the salesman asked what kind of stove I was looking for and I responded "One that cooks?"

Is there really that much difference between one oven and another? Yes. The answer is yes.

And of course I hadn't done any research prior because, well my false assumption that one appliance could boil water just as fast as another. But that, my friends, is a myth that you should not believe.  At least according to the sales guy.

There was just so much.

I spent two hours hearing about features and gadgets and a whole bunch of other things that make my head spin.  And all it did was make it worse for me because now I have more options. No, no, no! I'm trying to move in the other direction.

I walked in wanting a double oven and now I've got to decide between a double oven, wall oven and steamer combination or a wall oven convection/microwave combination.

And I don't cook enough to know what I'll use and what I won't use. And that's my concern - spending extra money on something I won't ever use.  The salesman highly recommended the steamer combination, he actually said it was a "game changer" but then also said there was a learning curve to cooking with steam. I have trouble cooking without a learning curve...so this makes me nervous.

It was a useful experience though - we narrowed it down to two brands and realized something that wasn't even on our radar.

The salesman was comparing the two brands and was telling us one was seamless - the two ovens literally sit on top of each other as opposed to the standard 2 inches between that you usually see.

Option 1: Standard space between ovens

Option 2: No space

Then he asked if I was doing side by side or stacking. I hadn't even considered (see lack of research statement above) side by side and our electrical wiring is already in so there's no options at this point - stacking it is.

Then he says "Then the seamless feature might be especially important for you." Why would that be impor...oh. Ohhhhhh.  It dawned on my husband at the same exact time, he asked "Are you saying that because she's short?" Stacked ovens and a short girl. I'll need to be able to see into the top oven, which could be a problem.

How did we not even think about that?

An then we moved on to refrigerators. You know how the new french door ones that have the freezer at the bottom and the fridge part at the top?  Really cool design - my husband really likes them. Which is unfortunate because when we opened the coordinating fridge it was immediately apparent that there was no way. I could barely reach the top shelf. I've never had that problem before but the way these particular shelves were set up - it was a no go.

You'll be relieved to know that I am tall enough to operate the dishwashers. We tested, just to be sure.

So I'm feeling a lot of pressure about these appliances, mainly because we're trying to get really good ones that will last a long time. Which means they are super expensive. And will last a long time. And that's a problem because if I get something and decide I don't like it...I'm just out of luck. I'll be stuck with it. Which my husband keeps reinforcing with his constant mantra of "You better get what you want because these are going to be your forever appliances."  Which is his way of saying get what you want despite the costs but I hear as "We're spending a lot of money so don't make a mistake in what you pick."

In case you're wondering, no the house isn't finished enough for appliances. We have to pick them out now so they know the dimensions when they build our cabinets. So we'll buy them and they'll store them for us until the cabinets are done.

We're having our cabinets custom built, which means we have to pick out everything. When we gutted the kitchen in our old house, I just went to Lowes, pointed to a cabinet that I liked and ordered it. Boom, done.

This isn't as easy.  At least for me.  My husband's like what kind of wood do you like? What kind of design do you want? I have no clue. I don't really know the difference between Alder, Cherry, Oak or Walnut. And I can't visualize things in my head, I have to actually see it.

So one of the trim carpenter invited us out to his house to see some of his work. We're driving out to his house in the middle of nowhere and I'm like is this really safe? To just be going to some strangers house? I watch too much crime tv for this...

But I'm here so I guess it was safe enough.

Actually, he was great. His wife and him were both great - we stayed for about an hour talking wood and visiting. They were both just really friendly, nice people. He then called a builder and they let us go into two new houses that were under construction so we could see some of the wood grains on real cabinets.

He also sent us to a client that had just remodeled their kitchen. Again, it was kinda weird just showing up at a strangers door like "Hi!  I'm here to look at your cabinets." But at least I know what kind of wood I like. And of course, it's the more expensive one.

So I thought of going with the cheaper one. Because really, if I was buying an existing house it's not like I would go into the kitchen and say "Oh, look at this grain! I don't like it, we're not buying this  house!" In fact, I'm not sure I would even notice that much. So really, it won't matter that much here either. But my husband said no, we're getting the wood I like and not to worry about the money.

But I am worried. Mainly because he's not.  He's lost his mind. He's encouraging me to upgrade and saying to take costs out of the equation.  Who are  you? I mean really, I don't know this guy.  This is the same man that wouldn't buy a $12.99 dress shirt because he thought it costs too much. Twelve. Ninety-nine.

I get this is our forever home and you want it to be nice but babe, we still gotta eat.

Take Two: Part II

Well, it's true...the second time really is easier!

I went in telling myself that it was going to hurt like hell.  So if nothing else, at least I was prepared.

We actually had a chance to talk this time. Last time she was busy trying to keep me on the table and I was just trying to remember how to breathe so there was no real conversation. Of course, I was trying to use the conversation as a way to distract myself.

And it totally worked. Because I had intended to tell her that I didn't want a full Brazilian. Not that you really need to know, but that really isn't the best look if you have an ugly vagina. Girls like me need a little something to help detract the ugliness. Which is why I totally get the bedazzling trend. What? You didn't know that was a thing?  Hey, sometimes a glued on rhinestone can make all the difference...

But I was concentrating so hard on what she was saying, and not what was happening, that I completely forgot to tell her to skip that area. I didn't remember until about .0002 seconds before I felt the wax being applied. Dang, I needed to keep that!

And I'm pretty sure the conversation distraction worked both ways. Because she spent a lot of time on my backside. Like, a lot. She was telling me about her ex-husband and just kept going and going. And I know that I'm a hairy beast but that hairy? Not that I don't appreciate the thoroughness, because I do.

So my rules for a successful wax are simple: prepare for the pain, mark the spot you want to keep in advance and make sure and ask about that ex!

Take Two

I'm about to go for round two of waxing torture.  

And it is a form of torture. Forget capitol punishment - just wax a hairy person for a minute or two and I bet they decide to straighten up real quick.

I should have gone last week but was too busy. I also may have been avoiding it just a little. But I'm at the stage that I can't avoid it any more. Which is about a week away from "Ummm, are you gonna take care of that?" and two weeks away from "You need to something about that NOW."  Us hairy girls can't mess around.

I'm nervous now that I know I have a reason to be. I was all "No Fear!" at my first appointment and we all know how well that went. This time I'm anticipating the pain. Which actually kinda makes it worse because my legs clamp shut just thinking about it. Natural instinct.

The Bringer of Pain, also known as the wax lady, told me it gets better, that the first appointment is the most painful. But she's getting paid by the job so of course she's going to say that, she's banking on girls like me believing her. Or being gluttons for punishment. Or buying a three pack before the first appointment. Why, why did I do the three pack?

So wish me luck. I think I'm really gonna need it.

Tax Man

2016 marks the first year I've ever owed taxes.

And not just owe, but owe big. Almost $5,000.

If that doesn't knock the wind out of you, you must be rich. 

We knew it was coming but still, that number hurts.

We got bumped into a higher tax bracket about 3 year ago. Not the good higher tax bracket where you get all the extra discounts but the bad higher tax bracket where you just get to pay a higher percentage and still be poor.

We've been saved because each year we've bought a house and the rehab cost can be written off - usually the write off is greater than any amount collected in rent for that first year so it actually comes out as a profit loss. A good thing for taxes. Honey, we have a profit loss! Yesss! Let's go to Applebee's to celebrate!

This year we spent a lot of money renovating a house but we didn't get it rented until after the new year. So we spent all that money but can't write it off until next year. Guess we won't be going to Applebee's, huh?

We also had to pay our accountant his fee - $600 smackers. Is there enough left for McDonalds?No? I didn't think so. Hey kids, ever had fried bologna sandwiches? No? You'll love them! And if you don't, better learn too, they're gonna be on the menu for a while...

Hope your tax day is a little less painful!

13

Thirteen weeks.

It's been thirteen weeks since I stopped drinking soda.

That's the longest I've ever gone in my life.

I did have one relapse. We went to see Zootopia on one of our Friday Family Fun nights and I got a soda for all of us to share. I didn't want to be selfish and get an unsweet tea since I'm the only one that likes it. I also didn't want to pay over $5 for another drink.

In retrospect, I should have gotten them a soda and a water for myself. But honestly, I hadn't thought it through so when they asked what drink, I kinda panicked and didn't even think of that as an option. I was also distracted on my phone and rushed since the movie was about to start...so obviously panicking doesn't ever lead to good decisions.

In the grand scheme of things, it's still not bad. Especially for me. I was kinda worried it would open the floodgates but it didn't.  I just chalked it up to a one time deal and moved on.

Of course, right now what I want more than anything is a Dr. Pepper. Which is why I'm writing this. I'm trying to remind myself that I've gone 98 97 days without one. I can go one more.

My goal is to complete the entire year without another one. That's probably one of the hardest things I'll ever do but that's what I have planned.

Yeah, I know - it's kinda ridiculous that something like that makes the "hardest ever" list. I know it's lame...Maybe someday I'll do something impressive like run a marathon or train for a triathlon. Or maybe even just run 7 miles.

But today, it's not drinking a Dr. Pepper.

****Amendment****
I am totally allowing myself one on my birthday. You only turn 40 once so hell yeah, I'll be drinking that Dr. Pepper.  That's really all I want for my birthday anyway...just give me a huge Dr. Pepper and a lot of love and I"ll be a happy, happy girl.

Weekend Winning

I got my house clean!

Not that it even mattered - both girls had tournaments so we were barely home. But hey, if there would have been time for an inspection, it would have passed. 

The tournaments were in different towns so we swapped Sunday. I don't know how single parents do it. There were two of us and we could barely make it. I felt like I did nothing but run kids around the whole time. 

And it sucks because the tournaments started so early on Sunday there was no time to go to church. Our church only has one service, so early service isn't an option. That did work out for my benefit though because I got a nap. I woke up, ate breakfast, visited for a while and then went right back to bed. It was super nice.

In full disclosure, that was actually my second nap of the weekend. We had about two and a half hours between games on Saturday so M2 and I rushed home and I got a nap then too. Hubby was super jealous because none of his breaks were that long. Mom for the win!

Since we were out at the fields the entire weekend it probably was not the most fun visit for our friend, but I had a great time. We stayed up entirely too late Saturday night talking. Oh my gosh, I was laughing so hard. I seriously did not want to go to bed. Man, I love spending time with people that make me laugh.

And since the weekend was busy, I needed a little perk for this Monday. How about these cute babies?  

There's just something fun about electric blue heels...

Running On Fumes

I've spent my night cleaning.

Exciting Friday, huh?

I'm not particularly fond of cleaning in general. Oh my God, that's an understatement. I kinda hate it. A lot.

Tonight's especially tough because I am dead tired. I've been tired all week. Like the completely zapped, barely enough energy to breathe, I don't want to do anything tired. I haven't been that tired since Mono Attack of 2001.

I'm telling ya, if the hubby hadn't met Mr. Snip-It about 6 years ago, I would seriously think I was pregnant.

So I'm struggling.

All I want to do is lie in bed under a mountain of blankets and sleep for days. That's reasonable, right?

But we have an out of town friend coming to visit so it has to be done. No getting out of cleaning duty this time.

Normally it wouldn't be a huge deal, I keep my house clean enough for company. Well, most the time. Okay, sometimes. Oh who am I kidding? I'm gonna need at least 24 hours notice before you stop by.

But seriously,  I wouldn't normally care so much. Especially when I'm this tired. If we're good enough friends that your crashing at my house, then whatever.

But this is different. Last time he came to visit he stayed several night with us. We didn't take off work for his entire visit, so he was at our house alone. Not a big deal, right?

Except he kept stumbling onto all my housekeeping shortcomings. Like every single one.

While we were at work, he rewired our surround sound. For the better, it was a really cool thing to do. The problem was that we had hardwood floors, which makes dust more obvious - I mean, there's nothing for it to sink in to, it just piles up. And as gross as this is, I rarely dust behind the tv. Which is exactly where he had to go to connect all the wires.

Of course, I immediately thought of that when he showed us what he had done. My very first thought was "Oh no.  I bet it was dusty."  but then I was like, "Nah, he's a guy. Dudes don't even notice stuff like that."

Oh, but they do. At least this one did. Because he told us he was wearing a black shirt and he had to change because his shirt got so dusty.

He had also had made us a cake. And I guess when he was looking for measuring stuff, he pulled out the one junk drawer I have. Out of all the cabinets you look through, that's the one you pick? Every single drawer in my kitchen is nicely organized - except the one you open.

And I know he got into my junk drawer because in the sink was the measuring cup that came with my floor steamer. Since I have a zillion measuring cups and he instead used my steamer cup...I'm guessing that was the first and only drawer that he opened.

He also happened to see the embarrassingly large pile of clothes I had tucked in my room, thinking they would be out of the way. I can't even say anything about that one. I basically have piles of clean clothes about 95% of the time. But look, there are four human's worth of clothes against me. I lose every time.

And I know it doesn't matter, but I'm convinced he thinks I'm some sort of horrible housekeeper. Quite possibly because there may have been an entire conversation about it during his last visit. No worries, hubby assured me that he did not marry me for my cleaning or cooking.

But I'm still not letting this guy see my house unless it's spotless. I don't know, I guess I have something to prove. I mean, I'm totally not a great housekeeper but I'll be damned if he knows it!

So we're bumping Friday Family Fun night and I got to work. Isn't that how everyone wants to spend Friday night? I mean, I could either let it go and crawl in bed or obsess over every little detail and drive myself crazy trying to make this place look magazine perfect.

I'll let you figure out which one I'm doing...

To The Two - Thank You

Ahhhhhh!

I just had the best workshop experience!

Our attendance has been down lately. I've been pretty bummed about it.  It seems like no matter what I do, I can't get our students to come to our workshops.

I looked at our topics, our presentations, the times - I just couldn't identify what the problem was. And it seems to have gotten worse.

So today, I had a workshop.  I had one student. ONE!

I was SO disappointed.

Out of all these students, one?!?

What the hell is wrong?

Then about 10 minutes in, another student came in.

Two is not much better than one but it's better. And I'll always take better.

During our workshop one of our graduates came into use the lab (it's shared space).  She's taking a course on our campus concurrently with classes at her 4-year.  I have an open door policy for any alum of our program - I will always try to help you and support you. I can't spend money on you but if you need to use the computer, a letter or recommendation, advice or just need a place to study, COME ON!

So I go through my workshop and it was GREAT!  They asked questions, were engaged but most importantly, it seemed like the information was helpful. And that's really the whole point of everything I do - if it doesn't help our students, it doesn't really count.

So after the workshop I was wrapping up and had to step out to grab something. When I came back into the lab the students were all talking and our alum was sharing what a great experience she had with our program and the students were talking about how much they'll use the information I presented.

It did my heart some good.

I mean, I went in disappointed, thinking "Really, I went through all this trouble to present to two?" and then...it turned out great!

It's amazing that sometimes things turn our completely opposite of what you were expecting.

The Apology That Never Was

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they say they're sorry.

And even more by the way they don't say they're sorry.

I mean, we've all gotten those, haven't we?  The non-apology apology. They're easy to identify because they're usually filled with everything except the most important part: the I'm sorry.

Why is that so hard for people to say?

That one little part changes everything; without it the message becomes self-centered and egocentric. And not much of an apology at all.

I mean, if there isn't an "I'm sorry" does it even count as an apology? Am I just making the assumption you're sorry and the rest is...what?  What is the rest?  I'm lost.

And I don't need you to grovel or beg or go to great lengths to convince me of your regret. A simple "I'm sorry" is enough. Because isn't that what we all seek in an apology - acknowledgment? Just to have our hurt acknowledged? "I'm sorry I hurt you" goes a long, long way.

So if you're apologizing without the apology, you might as well save it because it's obvious you aren't sorry at all.

Workhorse Wanna Be

Ugh.

I am not cut out for manual labor.

That's something my husband doesn't seem to understand.

I learned really early in our marriage that he though he married some sort of workhorse. No, no, no - I'm just a regular horse. Sorry to disappoint, but just a regular old horse am I.

But he doesn't see that. Not at all.

And I don't get it because you want me to be a soft, feminine woman and be able to work like a man? It doesn't work that way - you can't have both. The tougher you try to make me, you're just squeezing out the soft part. And that's the part I like...so please, please, please don't turn me into a calloused hands woman.

But he had plans for us this weekend. Work plans. Can I just tell you how much I hate work plans?

The good part is that they finally got done framing our house. The bad part is all the debris left.

That's the interesting thing about construction, in case you didn't know. None of the crews clean up after themselves. And I'm not just talking about construction stuff either. Cups, bottles, food wrappers - it doesn't matter what it is, they just throw it right down on the ground. I had read about that online so I was prepared but still - how is that okay?  What other job is there out there where you can just leave behind a freakin mess?

One of the many interesting things I found. This explains a lot...

So guess who got to clean up?

Yes, a full day of lugging boards around to the fire pit and picking up roof shingles. And all the other stuff left behind. Fun, fun.

So. Many. Board.

Progress. Oh, wait. We haven't even gotten to the back yet...

Then, when I think I was moving too slow, hubby put me on a new assignment - driving nails out of some of the used boards. Sounds pretty easy, right?  It's just hammering. I thought so too - until about my tenth board. About that time my arms were like jello from lugging the boards over and all the hammering. But maybe it's because all the boards looked like this:

So I officially hate manual labor. If you could convince my hubby of that, that would be great.

That's A Nice...Smile

So a couple of weekends ago hubby headed out for a weekend fishing trip.  Unfortunately, it was not a successful one - I had not one thing to fry upon his return!

Maybe unsuccessful is a tad bit harsh.

That's simply my perspective because my goal when fishing is to catch fish. You know, fishing - that's when you put a little worm on a hook, cast it into the water, stand around for a few minutes, get impatient, reel it back up, check the worm, cast it out again, stand around for a few minutes, reel it in, check the worm, cuss under your breath because your bait fell off, yell across the lake "I got a bite, dang fish got my bait!"

I'm pretty sure my husband's goals for this fishing trip mainly just involved beer and guy time. And in that case, it was successful.

So the fishing trip required him to get up at the crack of dawn Friday and be out the door before any of us woke up.

And I don't know about you, but our mornings can only be defined as batshit crazy.

I mean really, there's no other term to describe it. It's a marathon of me pulling small children from their beds, shuffling them into the bathroom, running around the house looking for (insert any item here), refereeing petty arguments about (insert any topic here) and barking out the same three commands Get dressed! Brush your teeth! Make your lunch! which grow more threatening as they are repeated.

And that's with my husband helping.

So you can imagine the state I was in Friday morning trying to get my squad out the door. Dear Jesus, is it too early for a drink?

In the midst of this chaos, I look up to find M2 dressed in a fancy lace shirt, sweatpants and her hot pink tipped cowboy boots. None of the pieces went together and she looked crazy.

For a nanosecond I thought of telling her to change but I didn't because my general rule is they can wear what they want as long as it is weather appropriate - with the exception of church and special occasions.

I want them to be able to express themselves in their own style and be confident in who they are. As young girls, I want them to understand you dress for you, nobody else.

M was telling me about a little bit of girl drama the other day and she mentioned some of the "fancy girls" acted snotty towards her because she wears t-shirts and jeans. Then she said "But I like wearing t-shirts and jeans. That's what I wear because that's what I like."  Yessss! Keep your sense of self, no matter what! And I will pray that you continue to make decisions based on your preferences and not the pressure to be accepted by others. 

And the whole t-shirt and jeans is all her.  I'm not a t-shirt and jeans girl - but that's what she likes and that's her. M2 on the other hand, is a blinged out, creative flair fashionista. Some of the outfits she comes up with get a little...wild.

So we scrambled around and I made it out the door with my crazy looking child.

Then yesterday what do I get in M2's folder?

A proof of her spring school picture. Her full-body spring school picture. Featuring M2 in a lace shirt, sweatpants and hot pink tipped cowboy boots...

In the chaos of that morning, Mommy of The Year forgot it was picture day.

I'm going to go ahead and order them...but I'm not so sure grandma will be getting one.

Big Mistakes

And bad mistakes, I've made a few...

And one of my mistakes was not worrying about the waxing pain.

Oh my Lord, that hurt like a son of a gun!

That's what I get for underestimating. I mean, ya, I knew it would hurt but I wasn't worried. Nope, big bad Amber wasn't worried at all. I was so unworried that when she told me it would be quick I replied "I'm okay with the pain, I just have to get over the awkwardness of laying here naked."

Until she ripped that first piece of wax off and I nearly jumped off the table it hurt so bad.

Remember this scene in 40 Year Old Virgin? 

It was exactly like that. 

Except I didn't scream. Instead I had this guttural grunt/moan that I tried to muffle.

And it just got worse. Because then I knew what kind of pain was coming. 

At one point she had to kinda pry my legs apart. Not that I was even conscience of closing them. It was pure instinct. The bodies instinct to protect itself is powerful.

She would put the wax on. I would breathe. She would pull. I would jump/moan/grunt/gasp. Then we would both laugh.

I mean, it was really hard not too. It was a ridiculous scene.

Okay with the pain, my butt... It took everything I had not to cry.

So yeah, waxing hurts like hell.

But don't get me wrong - I'm totally going back.

I have to - I bought a three pack.

Smooth Operator

Soooooo I'm getting waxed today.

A Brazilian wax.

It's my first and I'm equal parts excited and nervous.

No, that's a lie - I'm more excited.

I think.

I'm pretty sure I should be freaked out about the pain.  But I'm not even worried about that. I can do pain. You grit your teeth, hold your breath and then boom - it's over.  So pain is not my worry.

What I am worried about is the fact that someone will be working down there. It just seems so awkward to me.

And oh my god, I hope she doesn't try to talk to me while she's doing it. I'm sorry but I will not be able to carry on a conversation with you while you're down between my legs. I just can't.

Please, please just let me lay here in silence and melt in my humiliation.

I know I've had people down there before. Okay, so "people" doesn't sound right. Just to clarify, not like "people" as in multiple at the same time. Is that even possible? I mean, how would that even work? 

What I'm trying to say is that all my other "between the legs" experiences have been different. The gynecologist is quick and clinical and I don't ever really feel like she's really looking at me. Same with adult time - I think we're so busy getting down to business there isn't really time to look, look.

But this person's entire job is to thoroughly examine my whohaa. With like a microscope. Aggggghhhh!

I don't think my vagina has ever undergone such scrutiny.

I am, however, excited enough about the end results to suffer the embarrassment.

It may also help my case for laser hair removal, which I've been bugging my husband about for at least two years. So this has the real potential to be a win/win.

And since every major event must have a theme song, I'll be silently singing "smooth operator, smooth operator" in my head for the next few hours before my appointment.

Wish me luck!

Super Tuesday Super Flop

So today was Super Tuesday and we all got to go to the polls and cast our vote.  Not much of a vote to me because honestly, none of the candidates really excite me.

It is interesting though because this is the first election year that my husband and I haven't agreed on a political candidate.  It's really weird. And kinda sucks. I don't know, I guess I'm just used to being on the same team. I miss having spirited conversations about the "other" guy. I miss looking at each other and thinking the same thing during a campaign speech. I miss hearing my husband share his opinion and thinking "Man, that's a really good point" with admiration.

So this is definitely not a campaign year that I'm excited about.

But I did have something that I was excited about.  Something playful and fun planned for our "adult time".  I can hear the collective ewwwww right now. Sorry people, we're married and sex is part of the package.

Now I should have known, from past experiences, that my plan wouldn't go over as well as I expected. I always just think he's going to get super excited and be into it. And then he isn't.

I don't know why but I'm always surprised when that happens. And I shouldn't be because it happens a lot. He either laughs (yes, LAUGHS) or focuses on the completely wrong thing. Who could forget the dry clean only shirt incident during my striptease (Stay with me and focus on the important things, babe - the shirt is irrelevant.).

You would think that would be bad for a girl's self-esteem. Because laughing isn't really the planned reaction when you're doing all you can to be sexy.  It's kinda the last reaction you want, really.

But I get him, so I understand it. It's not that he doesn't find me sexy, because he does.  He just really doesn't do well with anything unexpected.  He absolutely hates when I say this but...it's because he's kinda a control freak. And I totally don't mean that in a bad way - but it's true, he likes things planned, mapped out and likes to be in control. So anything unexpected throws him off and he doesn't know how to react.  Even if it's in the bedroom. That's just him.

But I like to spice it up. Keep it interesting. Have fun. That's just me.

And despite initial reactions, we both end up appreciating it in the end. Things truly are much better when you're on the same team.

A Life Of Privilege

I’ve been with my husband for 16 years. After 16 years, you know somebody. I know how he likes his underwear folded and how annoyed he gets that I don’t match socks.  I know he gets moody if he doesn’t get enough sleep and he absolutely can’t stand any kind of road noise. I know he’s a traditionalist that values family. He drinks his coffee black, likes his tea sweet and has mayo on his hamburger.

After sixteen years, I know him is at his very core.  Right?

I always thought so.

Until recently.

Until we had some disturbing conversations about white privilege.

White privilege that he doesn’t believe exists.

And I can’t, for the life of me, wrap my head around that.

He fully acknowledges racism exists, that racism is unfair. But he refuses to recognize the advantages being born a white male have afforded him.

And I kinda get where he’s coming from. He doesn’t feel like he’s had any advantages in life. Growing up the way he did, struggling to survive and literally clawing his way out of poverty with absolutely no support. There is a little part of me that can understand the thought process.  But even when I asked him to step outside of himself and to think in broader terms – not his specific life but in general – he couldn’t see it.

And it’s alarming.

What does that mean?

How can you believe racism exists but then not see how fortunate you are that you don’t encounter it on a regular basis? Or hardly at all? How can you look around at our world and discount the reassurance that is provided by seeing faces that look just like yours on the vast majority of tv shows, commercials, magazines and even toys. How can you discount the fact that you are inherently provided the benefit of the doubt, unchained by demoralizing stereotypes?

I just don’t get it.

And I care too much about social injustices to let it go. It’s something I’ve always been passionate about. When I was in Kindergarten we had a black boy in our class. It was the first time I recall hearing the term black used to describe someone’s race. I don’t remember what the kid said, I don’t even remember if it was a boy or a girl, one kid or more…but I know when I heard him being called black, it was in a mean, degrading, demeaning way that was meant to imply he was not equal. And I was immediately struck with concern. I couldn’t comprehend why that made him “bad”.

I also thought of my father who, as Lebanese, also had dark skin and coarse kinky hair. I thought he must be black too. And I loved my Dad. I was confused. And hurt. And angry. My Dad was not less than!

When I asked my Mom that night if Dad was black, she had a really good laugh and explained he was not. I’m sure we had a conversation about race, although I don’t remember it. What I do remember is feeling a sense of injustice for the boy in my class.

I really don’t remember anything about him except that he was small and always looked sad. He had such sad eyes.  I wanted to cheer him up so I did what any 6 year old girl would do – I ran up to him on the playground, gave him a big ol’ kiss on his forehead and ran off again. I have about five memories from Kindergarten and that’s one of them. Obviously it was significant because it was the very first time I "kissed" a boy. Also he didn’t react the way I expected him too as a vaguely remember him not being pleased about it. At all. 

As I’ve gotten older I’ve thought of that boy a lot. As an adult, I wonder if he was sad because he heard himself described in such a mean way.  If that sadness was born from learning that some thought he was not as good because the color of his skin. I don’t know anything about his life, what he encountered or if he was really even sad at all. But I wonder if, like me, he went home that day and had a conversation with his Mom.

That’s a conversation I won’t ever have to have with my children. I won’t ever have to explain that there are some in this world that will always see them as less than. I won’t ever have to look at my child’s sad eyes when they realize that someone could hate them just because the pigment of their skin.

And that, my friends, is a privilege I get because I’m white.

The Day I Didn't Wear Pants

So today is officially No Pants day.

At least for me.

For some reason when I was getting dressed this morning I just decided it would be a good idea to go to work without pants.

Instead, I opted for leggings.

Let me tell you, it's 100% true what they say - leggings are NOT pants.

Did I realize this when I was getting dressed? No.

It's Friday, I'll go casual. Let me toss on this denim shirt with some leggings and boots. Yep, that will be cute.

Yeah, so cute when every dent and dimple is showing. So cute when you can visibly see your thighs vibrating as you walk. So cute when your butt is sagging past your shirt. 

I've worn leggings before. But I've always stayed on the side of safety. Meaning shirt well past my fingertips.  And I don't know why but it wasn't until I caught of glimpse of myself in the daycare door after drop off that I realized this shirt may be too short.

I had a fleeting thought of running home and changing. But I pushed that thought out of my head and rolled on.

Then I kept looking down, debating. Is it too short? Naw, it's fine. Right? Yeah, totally fine.

This continued as I rolled through McDonalds and on to the office.

What? So I'm too fat to wear leggings. Does that mean I can't get a Bacon Egg and Cheese biscuit and a hashbrown?  I don't see the problem...

It wasn't until I saw my reflection in the office door. Way too short. And way too unattractive.

I had a meeting first thing so I had to wait but the minute I was free I snuck out and bought a tank top long enough to cover my rear end.

So I do believe my leggings to work days are over.

Love Bug

Speaking of love...

I was spoiled rotten this weekend. Spent my Valentines weekend at a B&B. Total surprise.

It was really, really great.

Who knew getting spoiled was so awesome?  Yeah, I could totally do the whole princess gig.

A princess that cleans the toilets and does laundry.

And that's why they call it "spoiled", because it ruins real life for you. You mean, I can't live like this forever? I gottta work and actually do things? Domestic things? Noooooo! Don't make me, please, don't make me. I don't wanna go back to real life...

Actually though, I kinda get spoiled on a regular basis.  I mean, I guess it's all relative, because some women would probably scoff at what I consider spoiling. But hey, hubby lets me sleep in almost every Saturday and does breakfast. I don't know where that measures on the list of spoiling but sleep and food are two of my favorite things so I'll take it.

AND I got to drive his new ride. I guess technically my new ride too, since my income will contribute to the payment. But let's get real - it's totally his. As evidenced by the fact that I said I was driving it and he freaked out.

It was a controlled freak out but still.

"Couldn't you take the old truck?" I could but the new truck is more flattering. Be careful." Nope, planning on being careless. "Are you sure you can drive it?" I'm really not. Since, you know,  I just got my drivers licence 23 years ago. "Don't let anything happen to it." I'll do my best to control the universe. "Don't park right next to any other cars, I don't want any door dings." Well that's no fun because I was kinda planning on parking two inches away from the first beater I saw.

But just in case something did happen, I made sure to practice my "You can't really be mad at me, look at how cute I am" face...

And judging by this photo, I'm glad nothing happened for both our sake!

Ready Or Not

I listened to one of my old CDs today. The Fugees.

Took me right back to 1999. And made me think of an old friend.

I was living in an apartment with one of  my best friends from high school. The guys below us were about our age and we became friends, hung out. It was like our own little Melrose Place.

J used come up and we would hang out and listen to the Fugees.  Over and over. I swear that cd was always playing.

He was a big bear with a million dollar smile. He had this gruff voice, a Chicago accent and he used expressions I had never heard before.  Oh my God, I loved to listen to that boy talk.

One night I heard a clink. Then I heard it again. It was definitely coming from my bedroom window. I peeked out the window, and there's J standing underneath my window with the biggest grin on his face, like he was really proud of himself or something. I pulled up my blinds and he motioned for me to go to my front door.

It's late, past midnight and I'm thinking this dude is crazy. I cracked open the door and he says "Amber, will you make me something to eat? Pleeeeeease?"

I cooked less then than I do now so I made him the only thing I had - eggs.

Thus began our pattern - if my bedroom light was on then he knew I was awake and he would throw rocks at my window to get my attention and I would make him eggs. Sometimes I would make his whole crew eggs. He would brag to them "Amber makes the best eggs!"

I didn't. He was just happy that I was feeding him.

One night we're hanging out with another friend and all the sudden we randomly decide to go to Dallas. Right then. So we just get in my car and go. No one packs a bag. No one tells anyone that we're leaving. We just...go. We didn't even have a toothbrush.

We found a hotel, crashed, got up late the next day, ate lunch at Planet Hollywood. and then came right back home. The stupid things you do when you're young...

Man, I loved him.  But not in a romantic way.

Is that weird?

Maybe I over use the word love. But I feel like I really did, I loved who he was.  I feel that way about a lot of people in my life. Just this incredible love and appreciation for who they are.

I'm not afraid to use the term often. Maybe I say it too much, use it too casually. But when I say it, I say it sincerely.  It doesn't mean the same thing for every person, but it always means something. 

I don't think it diminishes romantic love either. There are different types of love, different levels of love.  I've loved a lot of people in my life. I've only been in love with a few.

Those guys ended up moving into a rental home that belonged to the parents of one of my friends. Right before they moved J did something trying to be funny. But it wasn't - at all. And I got offended. It was still kinda awkward between us when they moved.

He called some after they moved but eventually our friendship faded.

Several years later I was out on a date.  We'd stopped for drinks at a place downtown and as we were at the door someone caught me by the arm. I turned around and it was J.  I gave him a hug and he whispers "You don't have to ignore me just because you're on a date." with that huge grin. Apparently he had been calling my name. I wish I could say I was so engrossed in my date that I wasn't paying attention but no, just deaf.

And that was the last time I saw him.

I wonder what ever happened to him...especially when I hear the Fugees.