They Say It's The New 20

I used to worry a lot. I remember specifically when I was in the third grade, I worried about everything so much so that I had trouble sleeping. I worried myself right into success in things like school and friendships because I was so afraid of being bad at something, like I would end up in a pit of hungry tigers or worse if I failed. Luckily during the school years, there are things like grades and parents and peers to measure up against and to tell you whether or not you're doing a good job in life. I usually got the 'thumbs up.' I never saw a tiger (except at LSU and the zoo).

I liked being graded. It was concrete evidence that I was a success, or more importantly, proof that I wasn't a failure. Even with all of that positive feedback, I wasn't really concerned with being great, I just wanted to know I wasn't awful. I guess you could call it, "perfectionistic minimalism." I had to be perfect just so I could know I wasn't a failure, but I didn't quite want to succeed because that would be too much stress, too much pressure...more things to worry about.

Classic ktm story:
I was in the first part of elementary school when they tested me for Gifted and Talented classes. I remember the speech therapist, Ms. Polk, brought me into a little office/closet and asked me a bunch of questions like, "Who was Abraham Lincoln?" (I still don't know how knowing who Abraham Lincoln was had to do with my ability to do advanced math for my age, but whatever...) I remember thinking that if I answered all of these questions correctly, things would change and I might have to leave some of my friends. I also struggled with the instinct of trying to please all of the adults around me that I didn't want to throw the ENTIRE thing, so I compromised and answered about half of the questions right. I got what I wanted and didn't wind up having to leave all of my friends. Surprisingly, I was the only kid in the advanced reading group and the advanced math group NOT in Gifted and Talented classes.
I'm 30. Today. I don't worry about most things like I used to. Failure isn't as scary anymore, I suppose because now I've got 30 years of not-failing to back me up. When I was younger, I'd just look forward and see I had more time to mess up. Now that I'm this far through life, at least I've got all of that to fall back on.
It's harder to find a measuring stick for success or happiness once you're out of school. I don't get graded on my job or on my ability to be a good wife or daughter or friend. For the first few years of our marriage, I was trying to figure out how to measure our happiness. I knew that I was happy and that I loved my husband, but how did you measure that? Where was the grade that TOLD you you were doing a good job? A happy husband? No, that couldn't be it. A satisfying love life? No. I needed a stamp, a certificate or finally someone to tell me, lovingly, that I was insane. Thankfully I had Eddie. He helped me to measure our happiness by forcing me to answer the question, "Are you happy?" over and over again until my answer, "Yes." finally rung in my own ears.
He's never really been concerned about how to measure it. He just knew. I envy that.
I do worry a little...I guess that's how I'm built. Now that I'm 30, I feel a bit rushed. We don't have any children, not even any on the way, not even any time soon. I look ahead at that magic number 35, which just leapt closer because there's no longer a 2 in the front of my age. 35 is that scary number in my head when it's too late to have children. It's SO close and we haven't even started.
I just ran into a friend that I haven't seen in years. She's pregnant with her third. Her third. We're the same age. I don't like that measuring stick. I AM insane. Do I want three right now? No. Do I want one someday? Yes. Do I still feel rushed? Yes.
I think it's time for Eddie to ask me that question again.


Our Little Experiment

Three weeks ago, Eddie and I were talking, tossing around the idea of at least 1 TV-free night a week. After very little discussion, we decided to implement it the very next day, a Tuesday. Every Tuesday since then, including this one, has been Tv-free.

In a strange way it feels like a night off, like we've been given a free evening. I expected to feel deprived of the luxury of escape. Maybe I did feel that way...for the first 5 minutes. Then Eddie and I started to talk. About everything. We talked for hours, sat with Cody on the couch, prepared dinner together and I fell in love with my husband all over again once upon a Tuesday night.

However, this is still my favorite t-shirt.


We Drug Our Dog. Will That Make Us Bad Parents?

We live in an older home, one that was built in the early 50's. It has hardwood floors that creak,(which I love) plaster walls, some beadboard and is set up, off of the ground about a foot and a half. All of this history and charm is lost on Cody when it rains or when the wind blows faster than 10 miles an hour. He is inconsolable when it thunders, or when a particularly loud car drives by. He shakes and cries and pants. It isn't the shaking or the crying or the panting that bothers us, it's the fact that he has to shake and cry and pant ON us. Not NEAR us, but ON us.

It is all our fault. Eddie and I are big softies and always cave to a cute face. We let the dog sleep with us about two weeks after we got him, making that $100 crate suddenly useless. After that first night in the bed, when we asked him to kindly return to the crate the next evening he looked at us like we'd offered him some imitation Greenies. He refused the crate, turned on the cuteness and we caved.

When it rains, he shakes and cries and pants IN THE BED. You know, where we're trying to sleep. He can't be comforted and we can't sleep, so I begin to think about any way possible to end this hell. When I discern that uncharacteristic violence is the only way out, (and scare Eddie a little in the process) it's time to explore other options during waking hours when I am not so quick to kill anything in the way of a good night's sleep.

Upon advice from our Vet, when we know it's going to thunder and rain, we give Cody a healthy dose of Benadryl. It works like a charm. All of us can sleep through the rain for the entire night. With hurricane season approaching, I would advise all of my 3 readers to buy stock in Pfizer.


Happy Anniversary To The Man Who Brought Me Those Sweet Smelling Flowers

Happy Anniversary. I'm lovin' every minute of it.

The Day That Everything Fell

It was a lazy Saturday around here. I went to bed a little early for me for a Friday night; my head hit the pillow at 10pm. I woke up early, well rested and ready to face the laundry and dishes that tend to pile up during the week. Once I got out of bed, I rounded the corner and went into the bathroom. This is an important part of my morning ritual in more ways than one (or two. hee hee). I take a magic pill in the morning. This magic pill is extremely difficult to pry out of its safe little package with my mere mortal finger, so I use a highly specialized tool for such a job. My toothbrush. I use the end to gently push the pill from the package onto my palm. Only people trained in this method should attempt such a task. I should have been trained.

As soon as the pill fell safely into my hand, my TOOTHBRUSH jumped from my grip, did a few gravity-defying turns in front of my face and flung itself directly into the TOILET. THE TOILET. My toothbrush was in the toilet. Not only was my toothbrush in the toilet, I had to extract my toothbrush from the toilet. I quickly built a make-shift extraction device, got the toothbrush out and threw it away.

I went directly into the bedroom because I couldn't live another moment without telling Eddie what had happened. When he heard me tell the story, it would be instantly funny. It was.

About 20 minutes later, I was concentrating on a task when I hear, "Oh No!" coming from the bathroom.

I ran to the bathroom door to see my half-naked husband getting ready to shower. He was holding something in a towel, cringing and smiling at the same time.

"I dropped it."


"I dropped it in the toilet."

"WHAT did you drop in the toilet?"

"The manual for the D50."

Our toilet is the center of the gravity. Beware.
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