High School Revisited

“High school isn't a very important place. When you're going you think it's a big deal, but when it's over nobody really thinks it was great unless they're beered up.”
― Stephen King

A few years ago, I stumbled onto the planning committee for my 20th high school reunion.  I am nothing if not a joiner and I saw the notice on Facebook about helping out.  I didn't have much of anything else going on at the time and decided to see what I could do to assist.

I didn't love high school.  As a matter of fact, I almost had a countdown going for when I could get out of that school and, thus, small-town North Carolina, and get started on my LIFE.  I made pretty good grades and had a few friends but mostly, I had acquaintances and a strong desire to get the hell outta Dodge. When it came time for the reunion committee to meet, I KNEW everyone there but had never really been friends with them.

And there we were twenty years later.

I didn't expect to really like them.  I mean, I figured it would be much the same as it was in high school.  We would do our thing and plan the event and then it would be over and life would go back to normal.  And that happened.  But in the process, I was changed.

I fell in love with these people.

These people were SMART.  And they were FUNNY.  And I loved gathering with them to hear their stories of where they'd been and who they'd become over the last twenty years.  They made me laugh and, for the first time, I got to know them.  I found myself growing eager for each meeting and felt real sorrow when I knew the planning would cease, the event would be over and life would keep on keepin' on.

I felt like I belonged with them...that maybe I had belonged with them all along.

Over the last several years, we have gotten together here and there and I see some more than others.  I am always thrilled to hear from each of them and I hope they know that I would totally have their backs in the event of a worldwide catastrophe and/or zombie apocalypse.  

We have recently been invited to attend the class of (ahem) '88's reunion party for their 25th reunion.  They're looking for more people and we...well, we're looking for a fun place to get together!  So, our reunion committee activities have fired up again.  And once again, we're exchanging these hilarious quips back and forth via our FB message threads.  And I don't want it to end.

High school wasn't my thing.  I don't miss it in the least.  But I regret not taking the time to get to know these people.  They are GOOD people.  And I wish I could have been a part of them all along.  But, as it stands, I am so glad to have the opportunity to know them NOW.  

So to the members of the reunion committee for the Class of '89...thank you.  Thank you for the privilege of getting to know each of you.  You kids rock.  I love you!  Really,  I honestly do.

:) 

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My Kids are Ordinary

“Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.”
― William Martin, The Parent's Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for Modern Parents

I read an amazing Wall Street journal article this week by a teenager named Suzy Weiss entitled "To (All) the Colleges That Rejected Me (If Only I Had a Tiger Mom or Started a Fake Charity)."  It's a very entertaining look at how she just can't be competitive with some of her peers.  Go ahead, take a minute and read it now (I promise I won't be jealous).

Reading the article spurred me to think about what I expect from my children and then to think about what my friends and I do to set our kids up for failure.  How many times have you gotten a Christmas letter highlighting about how wonderful and perfect everything (and everyone) is?  Don't get me wrong.  I LOVE hearing about the many and varied accomplishments of all my friends and their kids.  But a few years ago, I started a Christmas letter writing campaign that included details about how screwed up the year was and laughed about everything that went wrong.  (I haven't sent these letters out in a few years because, quite frankly, I've been tired with all this single-parenting... Christmas sneaks up on me and it's St. Patrick's Day before I know it!)  I found out that many of my friends looked FORWARD to the annual recitation of crap that went on in my house.  It made them laugh out loud and then they shared the letter with THEIR friends and family. 

In short, people LIKE hearing about how screwed up someone else is because then they can relax their own facades and admit that they, too, have shortcomings and things aren't completely perfect in their homes.

So, I'm here to admit it:  My kids are ordinary.  (WAIT!  SHH!! Did I say that OUT LOUD??) 

Do I love them any less because they are not gifted geniuses in one field or another?  Nope.  Do I consider them to be somehow distasteful because they haven't invented a new app for the iPhone prior to their 13th birthdays?  (I left room there...neither one has yet turned 13.)  Nope.  I adore my kids and appreciate them tremendously, perhaps even more BECAUSE of their quirks.

They're smart kids.  But, boy, they screw things up.  And I'm totally OK with that.  Because you know what? I'M ORDINARY, TOO!  And you might be horrified that I wrote those words down because (God forbid) what if one of them READS THIS BLOG?  Well, I say this:  ordinary people make the world go 'round, kids. 

Growing up, I thought I was going to be "somethin' special." I just KNEW I was going to make vast and sweeping changes in the world and be admired by all.  But I didn't.  I haven't.  And, here's the thing:  I WON'T.  I'm an ordinary person living a regular life and someday I will die a perfectly plain death. 

I'm JUST NOT THAT SPECIAL. 

Radical, right?

I'd love to think that my kids are going to grow up and cure cancer or invent a new kind of chewing gum but, in all reality, they are probably going to become much like myself or their father and they will live out plain ol' regular American lives.  The truth is that they are unique and they are certainly special to me but, thus far, they are not outshining their peers in anything.  They keep up, sure, but they're not smashing any records.

I love having ordinary kids.

• They can have whole days in our jammies.  They are not (by ANY stretch of the imagination) overscheduled.  I allow one, MAYBE two, activities at once.  Thing 1 has opted not to have ANY activities currently and I'm perfectly OK with that.  He has time to dream and to believe that he is anything but ordinary.  I love that my kids have this SPACE to be kids and to just not do anything at all.
• They have no pressure.  People should apply their own pressure.  If YOUR kid wants to be the first medical doctor to live on Mars, then your kid should DEFINITELY go for it.  I'm not going to force my kids to do things in order to make them more perfect, more socially acceptable or less ordinary.  I have EXPOSED them to many things.  I did require that they learn about sports at an early age.  We have been to concerts.  We have volunteered as a family.  But, I want them to find their own way and they're not going to find it chasing MY dreams.
• They know they are loved. They know that they don't have to accomplish anything to "earn" my love.  In this way, I hope they understand that's the joy of God's love...it's not something you can earn but something that's given freely and without condition.  My love is TOTALLY FREE for them.  I love them exactly the way they are and appreciate them for the beautiful, complex, irritating, and profound ways they impact my world.  They don't have to earn straight A's (even though that would be easy and sooo nice sometimes) and they don't have to hit the winning run.  They simply have to exist as Thing 1 and Thing 2.
• They can experience joy without restraint.  Because there is no pressure and they know they are loved, they are fully free to find simple joy.  They are not reaching for the next rung of success...they are already successful in their own rights.  They can stop and know that THIS plate of spaghetti smells good and will make them feel full and, WOW, it's GOOD!  I want them to find the joy in life's smaller moments.  Don't wait to reach that goal to find your bliss.  Find it now and find it here within the beauty of your own life.  

My kids rock my world.  They are a fully ordinary part of my completely ordinary life.  And I wouldn't exchange them or this life for anything else.  This life has shaped me into a person that I enjoy.  I like my own company and my fondest wish is that my kids will find this level of contentment (and beyond) even earlier than I found it.

So, kids, if you're reading this, I hope you know that I embrace your ordinary selves fully.  I want nothing for you other than to be happy...but now that I think of it, that's a pretty extraordinary goal.

Thoughts? You KNOW you're horrified... :) 

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My side of the bed

“I'm not sure if it's better to be alone but it's probably safer.” 

                                      --Eleanor Prescott

This morning, I woke up on the other side of the bed.

You might wonder why this is at all important.  I'm single, after all, and I have the full run of my bed.  I can sleep on one side, on the other, in the middle or upside down for all anyone else cares.  But for the past 18 years (and, if I were honest, probably a little longer than that), I have slept soundly on the left side of the bed.

When I was married, there was always the space for my husband reserved, whether he was in town or out.  I've been (mostly happily) separated and then divorced for almost five years and, for all that time, I have continued to sleep on the left side of the bed.

I'm sure there's a psychology that goes along with it.  People might say that I'm still reserving that spot for my "soul mate" or they might say that I miss the companionship of a marriage (I do, sometimes) or they could speculate that I'm just not content to be on my own (I am, for the most part).  I have often looked at my bed and sighed exasperatedly because I have this wide open space that I'm simply not using.  I may as well buy a COT.  But I still always get in on the left, even though it's farther from my bathroom and, until last night, I STAY on the left all night.

Last night, like most nights, I read until exhaustion.  Sparky, my deliciously cuddly labradoodle, was asleep on the floor.  Usually he joins me in the bed (he is required to sleep on TOP of the covers though because I loathe black fur on my white sheets) but last night I suppose it was just too warm and he opted for the floor.

Then, because I am a creature of habit in spite of all of my crazy antics, I turned on the tube with the sleep timer set for 10 minutes and then I piled up all my pillows near the center of the headboard.  And that's all I remember until I woke up this morning to "Dancing Queen."  You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life... I rolled over to hit the snooze and patted Sparky instead WHO WAS LYING ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE BED.  I opened one bleary eye and lifted my head, confused.  Why was Sparky on the left side?  WHERE was the alarm coming from?  Was I on the FLOOR?  I realized how far away the alarm was and then patted the right side of the bed and hit air.  Not only was I on the RIGHT side of the bed but I was ALL THE WAY on the right side.  I managed to crawl across the bed and hit the snooze before ABBA told me again how I could dance and collapsed in a heap on top of Sparky.  As he licked my face in morning greeting, I raised my fists in the air in victory:  I am finally, truly a single woman!

After being connected with someone in marriage, it's tough to shake that feeling that you're MISSING something (or, rather, some ONE) in your life.  I have had more than one friend who separated after me and have already remarried or have started shacking up.  I have missed having someone on that right side of the bed and someone to have a glass of wine with me on the deck before bed.  But last night was peaceful.   I feel content now more often than not when it's just me and Sparky and I enjoy my little single person rituals.  And, apparently, I can enjoy sleeping in ALL of my bed now.

I decided to think about all the things I love about being single:

1. When I wake up in the middle of the night, I don't have to worry about waking anyone else up.  I can go downstairs and grab a glass of chocolate milk, turn on a movie and dance.  When the kids are with their dad, I can make a 3 a.m. trip to Wal-Mart.  I can take a walk.  I can laugh out loud.  It's a glorious freedom to know that you can live OUT LOUD at 3 in the morning.  
2. I can eat cereal for dinner.  I don't have to prepare a meal.  If I want, I can skip dinner and have a glass of wine (or two) instead.  I don't have to please anyone else but me (there's that selfish thing again!).
3. I can read instead of clean the house.  The boys could care less if the house is tidy.  The only one who gives a rat's patootie is me.  So, if that new Harlan Coben mystery is calling my name, I can sit on the couch in my jammies ALL DAY LONG and finish the book without anyone complaining or thinking I'm lazy.  I can always clean at 3 a.m.
4. I can go (just go) at any time.  Sometimes, I like to jump in the car and drive...north.  Or south.  Or whichever direction the wind is blowing.  I don't have to answer to anyone anymore, so I can just hop in the car and drive in whatever direction I choose.  I have stumbled onto some wonderful moments and places this way.  
5. I get to choose what's on TV.  It's how I was able to watch almost all three seasons of Downton Abbey in only two weekends.  :)  It's how I can watch Marley and Me and sob out loud.  I haven't watched a single sporting event in almost five years.  

Would I like a partner in my life?  Sure, I would.  But I don't have one right now.  Sure, the On-Again is there sometimes, but he has his own life and I just don't know how or if that will work out.

So I'm going to continue to enjoy and grow in my Single Status...and enjoy the RIGHT side of my bed!

Changing My Definition of Fun

"There was nothing wrong with not wanting - not needing - the constant jostle and noise of a party or bar or... whatever.” 
                                                                   - Charles de Lint

When I was in my twenties, I enjoyed the late night twistings and turnings of a club.  I felt alive when the dance music, far too loud, felt like it was pounding into my flesh and through my veins.  I wanted that sweaty, otherworldly feeling when the lights pulsed and the weird gyrations of fellow partiers were illuminated frame-by-frame.  And I...my fuzzy-headed intoxicated self...would laugh and raise my hands and pretend I could dance.

That time is long since past.

A dear friend of mine just celebrated his fortieth birthday (FINALLY!  I feel like I've been waiting FOREVER for him to get here!) and his lovely wife decided to surprise him with a dinner out and a comedy club trip.  The end of the evening was iffy but I told her that you can get into the country music bar (complete with mechanical bull) next door free with admission to the comedy club.

We had a great night. It was so good to see my friend (even though he texted me almost immediately to tell me we were in a fight because I hadn't told him something important) and we laughed our butts off at the raw humor of the comedians.

But at the END of the night, most of the people in our group peeled away to head home to little ones or for other reasons of their own.

So, a small group of us stood there trying to decide what to do.  What did I want?  I wanted to go home and put my jammies on and snuggle with my Labradoodle.  See, the time has passed for me to stand around deciding what to do at 10 p.m....even if it's a weekend night and I don't have anywhere particular to be early the next morning.

I love my friend SO MUCH.  And what I REALLY would have liked to do is have an old-fashioned slumber party...I would have enjoyed sitting around drinking coffee and eating cake and talking about life in general.  I miss him terribly because I don't get to see him very often and I didn't want to share him with a club.  These days what I want is connection...not a party.

We halfheartedly went to the country bar next door and, even though I pointed out the mechanical bull (remembering my OWN 40th birthday celebration), we only stayed a few minutes and then went back out into the parking lot because the other members of the party wanted to find some additional "fun." I opted for jammies and the Labradoodle.  My friend lamented that he wished he would have known that girl in her twenties who was always looking for fun but I can counter that here:  THIS girl is so much more real and so much happier and grounded than that lost party girl ever was. 

So, I came up with a list of alternate ways for groups to spend time instead of "clubbin'."

1. Learn to knit and start a knitting club.  (OK, I'm totally kidding about this one but I figured it would be a HILARIOUS way to start the list.  No?  Moving on....)
2. Take a late night nature walk.  I'm actually not kidding about this.  There is nothing more magical than a late night where you can see the stars, strolling along with a glass of wine in hand.  I can almost HEAR the Vivaldi playing in the background in my head.  I do realize that this NEVER HAPPENS but it totally SHOULD.  Here in town, you can't even see the stars anymore because of all the light pollution, but one of my FAVORITE things to do when I go camping is to be out under the stars drinking wine and talking with people I love.  I think we should do this more often...alone and in small groups.  Perhaps if everyone stopped being scared of being out in the dark then the night would become less scary.  (Author's note:  This is coming from someone who has absolutely zero sense of personal safety so....please don't blame me if anything happens to you on a late night walk.)
3. Go home and TALK.  Stop using the "we have kids" as an excuse.  Remember when you were a kid and your parents had friends over and you fell asleep listening to the sounds of grown-ups clinking glasses and shuffling cards?  Those sounds are comforting and a wonderful reminder of how connected we can be to people.  You don't need to be out in a club.  Bring it home.  Play card games with your friends.  Laugh.  Connect.
4. Go skating.  OK, my knees can't take this anymore but I would totally go to a skating rink with a group of friends (as long as I was fully outfitted with knee pads, elbow pads and a helmet to cushion my head from the inevitable connection with the floor).  It's lighthearted and old-school but, once again, offers the ability to connect with people in a way that you can't with music pounding so loud you can't hear anything said unless you're actually roaring to each other.  Maybe they have 80's skate nights for all of us codgers!
5. Find a coffee shop that serves decaf.  We need more late-night coffee shops in our area. I want those jazzy little places with poets who wear black turtlenecks having open-mic night.  I have a friend from college (you know who you are...shout out to my long-lost friend in PA!) who used to spend time with me at a little coffee shop called Cup O' Joes.  The coffee there was so strong I swear it poured like syrup.  We would sit there for HOURS chain-smoking and drinking cups of barely-liquid caffeine.  Later at night we would go to this Days Inn restaurant where we would eat cheese fries and pour our OWN cups of coffee when the waitress was busy.  These are some of the fondest memories of my life.  I don't remember what we talked about but I do remember that I love that girl.  We couldn't have connected like that in a club.  

So, if you feel the need to dance, do it!  But remember that you can dance just as easily in the aisles of a grocery store or in your own living room without paying the cover charge and suffering the long-term hearing loss.

So here and now, publicly, I am breaking up with clubs in general.  I bid you adieu.  I'm on to the Next Fun Thing now that my definition of fun has changed.








  

Is "better late than never" REALLY OK?

"People count the faults of those who keep them waiting."

                                                                    -Proverb

My ex-husband was two hours late to our first date.  It is either a testament to how cute he was or how lowly I thought of myself that I actually did go out with him when he arrived two hours after the designated time (after multiple prompting phone calls from yours truly).

To truly grasp how much I LOATHE being late, we have to look back at my childhood.  My mother was ALWAYS 30 minutes early.  If we were 15 minutes early, she acted like we were LATE.  I did despise always being the first one to events but I was accustomed to getting the good seats and I learned to enjoy people watching as I waited for whatever activity to begin.  She taught me that it is, quite simply, RUDE to be late.

So, he was late to our first date.  He was late consistently to...EVERYTHING.  He would show up to a 50-minute class 30 minutes late (if he bothered to show up at all).  He joined the Navy at one point (the reasons WHY are not my story to tell, so I will refrain) and I was encouraged after six years in the Navy that PERHAPS things would improve.

They didn't.

For personal things, he continued to be late...anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours would go by with events and life going by while we waited for My Ex-Husband (OK, he was My Husband at that point).

Over time, it got ugly.  I would cry and explain to him how DIMINISHED it made me feel that he didn't care enough about me to just pay attention and be ON TIME.  I wasn't even asking for EARLY.  I was actually only asking for him to maybe only be TEN minutes late as opposed to 30.

I realize now that he wasn't being disrespectful to me.  He just honestly didn't CONSIDER time or me as a factor.  He did what he had to do when he had to do it and really just didn't think about the fact that people might be waiting for him.  It wasn't spiteful at all. It's just WHO HE IS.

So today, I let him handle a Big Important Event for Thing 2.  I couldn't be there and I just had to Let It Go. 

Here's how THAT went:

He's STILL late.  And, as you can see from the above, he doesn't consider 20 minutes to be late AT ALL...even when an entire TEAM was held up waiting for him.  He got there 30 minutes late and, from the way he sees it, everything works out fine.  But he doesn't consider at all the STRESS that other people feel when he puts this burden on them. 

I'm not married to him anymore so it doesn't really affect me on a daily basis.  But it DOES affect my kids.  And there is absolutely NOTHING I can do about it except tell them that their dad just has a problem with time.  He's brilliant in all aspects except the one that deals with time and space.  They're going to have to live with it forever.

The On-Again Boyfriend does have to deal with some leftover issues I still have with time.  He is terribly punctual (how I LOVE him for that!) but if he ever DOES run late, I try really hard not to get all pissy with him.  He always has a reason (not an excuse) if he's late.  (He's not PERFECT, by any stretch, but he's not LATE.  That's another blog post altogether, though.)

My ex-husband (aka "Baby Daddy") knows that I judge him for being late.  He doesn't care any more than he did when we were married.  But now I can judge him from a distance and I usually forgive him immediately since I no longer have to hold a Marriage Grudge.  Things just seem to work out for him regardless so he'll probably never even learn a lesson.  Maybe there's no lesson to be learned.

Maybe I'm just a judging judger.
 
Addendum, Sunday April 7:  None of the above is meant to be harsh.  The Ex-Hubby knows he's late all the time.  It's something we joke about and something that he does (kinda) try to overcome.  I've had a couple of personal comments worrying about whether or not I crossed the line with this post.  I don't THINK I have and I hope I haven't.  I write about this stuff because, well, it HAPPENS to me.  I try to avoid telling stories that aren't mine to tell...and I try to be "kindly cutting," if that makes any sense.  So, Ex-Husband, if you're reading this, I hope I didn't hurt your feelings.  :) 

The competition worked out just fine for Thing 2 and his team.  Although they didn't progress to the World championships, they were proud of getting to the state level of competition. 

Life is good.  :)
 



   

A Good Hair Day Can Make Or Break Your Life

“I don't think we should base so much on weight, muscles, and a good hair day, but when it happens, it's nice. It really is.” 

                                                                             --Stephen Chbosky

A Good Hair Day for me is like a mystical and rare magic.  At this point in my life, I view a Good Hair Day like I do a good Twilight movie:  highly unlikely and totally unbelievable but completely sexy enough to make me stand in line to see it. 

I know Put Together women who always look like they've stepped out of the pages of a magazine.  Their polish is always perfect (on fingers AND toes; good golly, I'm lucky if one nail out of TWENTY looks presentable) and their hair immaculately coiffed.  They match their jewelry with the tones of their belt buckle and even their eye shadow reflects perfectly their elegantly pieced wardrobe.  Their shoes aren't speckled with mud and they wear the color white with perfect poise.

Put Together Women are fascinating creatures to me and I'm sure they catch me staring.  I am startled by their beauty and their...well...perfection.  I can't help but make up stories about their lives that reflect the magnificence of their toiletry habits.  Bernadette glided effortlessly over to her friends, unburdened by a single life's care...

I, on the other hand, am what is commonly referred to in the south as a "hot mess."  Even fresh out of the shower I am equally likely to look as if I were recently caught in a wind tunnel or like I've been on a ten-day African safari.  My hair is a frizzy bird's nest much of the time and, more likely than not, I have managed to lose an earring somewhere between the car and the chair in my office. And one thing is for certain:  if I am wearing a white shirt, you can guaran-damn-tee I will have a coffee stain on the portable shelf I carry around on my chest. 

So, the question for the day is this:  how do you become one of those perfectly coiffed Put Together Women?  I've done my research.

1. Purchase and read beauty magazines.  Personally, I either go for the New Yorker or for People (only when I'm at the dentist because I am SO NOT PAYING for that trash).  The New Yorker has zero beauty tips and tends to highlight characters as opposed to women who can shed 10 pounds in 15 minutes.  So, I really need to toss aside my New Yorkers for, say, Vogue.  Usually, I cannot stomach the Vogue because a) it usually has people on the cover who are so beautifully made up and airbrushed that I actually don't recognize them and b) it's, like, 500 pages of advertisements for clothing and makeup that not only I can't afford but I probably couldn't even figure out how to put it on.  But I think that elegant women must actually purchase (and, perhaps more important, READ) these magazines.
2. Stop drinking coffee.  I actually almost lost my breath entirely when I wrote that sentence.  Coffee is actually a part of my life's blood but, here's the thing:  THESE WOMEN DON'T NEED COFFEE.  I don't actually believe they ever drink anything but Evian and they certainly never eat.  I never see them with coffee stains on THEIR shirts.  I wonder if they have IV poles hidden all over their houses?  Next time I'm in the house of a Perfect Woman, I am so going to look in the closets for IV poles and/or Magic Pills that offer a full day's nutrition in one convenient pill form.  BE WARNED!
3. Care about your appearance.  I would prefer not to go around looking like a possum but I really just don't care enough to move from possum to gazelle.  Possum is more suitable for my personality and for my wardrobe.  I am someone who shops via the internet from ONE store chain only.  I do not venture into prints and I would laugh out loud if someone recommended I purchase slacks in a color other than brown or black.  I am comfortable in my solids and in my cardigans...and I just can't bring myself to care enough about style or fashion or shopping to move away from them.  
4. Have more women friends.  I am a guy's girl.  I often just don't UNDERSTAND women (even though I am one) and I am irritated by (and certainly irritate) women and their various neuroses and generally whiny behaviors.  I even irritate MYSELF.  And I do have a few women friends...but it takes a lot to get into my inner sanctum (and you know you're in it if I make fun of you....see what a DUDE I am?).  But when women DO get in, they tell me what I'm doing wrong fashion-wise.  I have a Put Together friend who is aghast that I cannot tell when she's wearing mascara vs. when she is not.  Seriously?  Am I SUPPOSED to pay attention to that stuff?  The same friend is also horrified that I have not strayed from brown eye-liner in about 20 years.  She works on me..and I am humbly grateful for her (fruitless) efforts.
5. Learn to be uncomfortable in your clothing.  Yes, that's right.  I said UNcomfortable.  To me, there is absolutely nothing I like better than to throw on a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie I've had for over 20 years.  I feel so good and so cozy.  But women who have good hair days and who are always put together only wear yoga pants when they're ACTUALLY DOING YOGA.  
6. Do more yoga.  I think this is just a hard-and-fast rule.   This is so you can converse with other Put Together Women about where you "do yoga" and how often.  You can then size up your opponent's/friend's taut yoga muscles and feel significantly superior when yours are obviously leaner.
7. Learn to feel superior.  Are Put Together women superior BECAUSE they are put together or are they Put Together because they feel superior?  I think this is a chicken-and-egg theory so I'm just going to go with feeling superior because it is SO NOT going to work the other way around for me.   There is a smooth, gliding walk that goes along with the superiority thing that will be difficult for me to master because I trip over specks of dust in the carpet and bang my face into doorways on a regular basis. 
8. Believe you CAN be Put Together.  I get to this last one and I freeze.  I cannot be That Woman.  I don't think anyone would recognize me with matching clothing, shiny shoes and hair that lays smoothly in only ONE direction.  It's just...not me.  I honestly don't think it's physically POSSIBLE for me to be one of these women.  You, my Put Together friends, are genetic mutants put here to taunt the rest of us with your beauty and your utter perfection.

I suppose I'll have to settle for just being me...a plain old hot mess with ketchup stains (even though I really don't even EAT ketchup...how does THAT happen?) and frizzy hair and smudged-up eye makeup.  I'll try to clean up for fancy dress parties and I'll do my best to glide and keep my tongue planted firmly in the roof of my mouth (my On-Again Boyfriend swears by this rule...he thinks it makes me fall down less). And I'll continue to stare at my Put Together friends and marvel at their seemingly effortless (albeit certainly uncomfortable) style.

But, boy, a good hair day sure could take me a long way to happiness...

Looking forward: A tongue-in-cheek perspective

“I look forward to being older, when what you look like becomes less and less an issue and what you are is the point.”
- Susan Sarandon

I am the kind of person who MUST have something to look forward to.  Sure, the things that I am doing right now are absolutely fabulous (unless I happen to be cleaning the toilet right now) but I really NEED something to dream about even if it is something that will never come to pass.  

I know you have ALL been DYING for a new blog post.  Don't worry, one is on its way later tonight.   Until then, keep working for the man, keep slaving away for your kids and try not to eat all the leftover Easter candy (yes, we all know you do it because we do it, too).

I am here to tell you that there IS something to look forward to.  Always.

1. One day you will not care what you look like when you go to the grocery store.  That day may already be here.  It is for me.  I have been to the grocery store in pajama bottoms, a mismatched t-shirt and a ball cap on my unwashed head.  I don't even care if I run into someone I know.  Actually, it's EVEN BETTER if I run into someone I know because then we both have a funny story to share with our friends about how on earth someone can possibly venture out looking so ridiculously unkempt and honestly not care about it.  When I was a teenager, I would have been horrified at myself.  Today?  Meh.
2. Your children will grow up. (If you don't have children, you are already living the dream.)  Now, I realize there are mothers out there who get teary at the very thought of their tiny lovelies growing up and moving out.  But I think deep down they will celebrate the day when that car is loaded up and the laundry and the eye-rolling and the general chaos of life has stilled to a peaceful, manageable existence.  I adore my hoodlums, I really do.  But I have never regretted one step they have taken toward independence.  My job is to teach and to care for and to never, ever hold back.  They can go.  I'll be ready.  I am excited to know them as adults.
3. Your butt will sag.  You may be wondering to yourself how on EARTH this could possibly be a good thing.  I am here to tell you this:  the day your butt (and/or your boobs) starts to sag is the day you can finally throw in the towel and realize that gravity WILL take effect and you don't have to compete at all with the 20-something, 30-something chickies who always look fit and fabulous.  I look forward to the day when my butt is dragging against the back of my kneecaps.  On that day, I will say "glory hallelujah, pass me that chocolate cake" and I will begin my old-age adventure of drinking, smoking and tanning until I look and smell like a crispy piece of dried-up, saggy old bacon because no one will care what I look or smell like at that point.  I will also know that I can then begin to say EXACTLY WHAT I THINK.  (Scared now, arentcha?)
4. This, too, shall pass.  Whatever it is you are going through at this point in your life is going to end.  It may end well or it may end badly but just know that whatever it is, you can make it through it.  It won't last forever.  It CAN'T last forever because eventually you'll die.  :)  How happy of a thought is THAT?  But seriously, life goes in cycles.  There are ups and there are downs.  And it just won't last forever.  It can't.  Keep your chin up, sister, and keep pedaling. 

So, even if you have nothing else, you can look forward to my odd and rueful musings later tonight.  Or you can look forward to the new season of Mad Men.  Or you can look forward to the idea of a world where all the laundry is always clean, folded and put away.  Just keep your eyes up. 

What do you look forward to?