Hey Me, Where Are You?

Do you ever feel out of touch with who you used to be? I've been wondering how I became estranged from me, version 2007. I liked her. She had lots of energy and ideas.

100 Things About Me

I know this is so 2006, but I like this exercise.

1. I have brown eyes.
2. My oldest child is only an inch shorter than me right now.
3. I have the beginnings of a bad knee.
4. I was born at home.
5. I like to eat.
6. I get up every morning at 6:40.
7. I am currently trying to reconcile my lifelong rift with winter.
8. I'm a friendly person, but a bit of a loner.
9. I keep my fingernails short.
10. I am about to turn 34.
11. I enjoy the liberal daily use of good smelling lotion.
12. I like my dog, but sometimes fear that I don't show her enough love.
13. I'm the sixth of eight children.
14. I like to learn a little bit about a lot of things.
15. I hate it when my home phone rings; it's almost never someone I want to talk to.
16. I enjoy cooking most of the time.
17. I love singer/songwriters.
18. Almost every bit of advice or scolding I give to Christian is something I should use myself.
19. I love my house.
20. I used to leave my contacts in for months; now I take them out every night.
21. I'm in love with my husband.
22. I think I want to go to the circus for my birthday.
23. I am falling out of love with blogging.
24. I enjoy vacuuming.
25. I do not enjoy dusting.
26. I hate cleaning out the fridge.
27. Someday I'd like to learn more about the stock market.
28. I'm working on a novel. The process intimidates and terrifies me.
29. I crave summer like a drug.
30. I would have enjoyed math more in my youth if someone had explained that it's one of very few things in life that result in a "right answer."
31. I like texting.
32. I like old buildings.
33. I love doing laundry and folding laundry, but I hate putting it away.
34. I have decided to consciously stop wishing things were different about myself. What a waste.
35. I think David Gergen is the best political commentator ever.
36. I used to hate chewing gum until I realized that I could chew it for only a few minutes and then spit it out. Turns out, I'm in charge of my gum!
37. I enjoy walking outside more than any other form of exercise. 
38. I am a huge fan of carbohydrates.
39. I like driving my car.
40. One of my pet peeves is people who stand right outside the entrance of buildings smoking.
41. Sometimes I feel like a good writer and sometimes I feel like a crappy writer.
42. I feel like I've become much more serious in the last few months and I don't like it.
43. I'd like to have more ambition, but I also want to feel content.
44. I no longer have a toenail fungus.
45. I am genuinely tired of reading about war: in fiction, in nonfiction, in real time.
46. I am more funny on paper than I am in real life.
47. I am not competitive with others.
48. I really try to be a good parent, and I think that most of the time I am.
49. I used to be afraid of semicolons; now I just don't like them.
50. I would never want to re-live my twenties.
51. I would never want to re-live my teens.
52. I am saddened when I hear of unhappy childhoods.
53. I believe in working hard, but also making lots of time for fun.
54. I love A Prairie Home Companion on NPR.
55. Even though I am a woman, there is a lot that I don't understand about women.
56. Give me sushi and I'll be happy.
57. I'm overwhelmed sometimes by how much I love my kids.
58. I am continually amazed by Ryan and his accomplishments.
59. I can waste an entire day with little to no effort at all.
60. I am a longtime user of Proactiv Solution, and a sucker for most infomercials.
61. In my opinion, traveling is not only fun, but absolutely necessary. Every place I've ever visited has changed me and my view of the world.
62. I want to travel more. Lots more.
63. I think bridges are jaw-dropping structures.
64. I worry about my dad's health sometimes. I want him to live a long, long time.
65. I don't worry about my mom's health so much. She was a health nut before health nuts were cool.
66. One of my favorite quotes to ponder came from Mad Men: "Nobody knows what's wrong with themselves, but everybody else can see it right away."
67. I'm trying to figure out what everybody else can see right away about me.
68. I love my brothers and sisters.
69. I like to sleep with a foot sticking out of the covers.
70. I am not afraid of or opposed to killing spiders.
71. I have nice handwriting.
72. I have bad hearing.
73. I think it's important to listen to intelligent people who disagree with you.
74. I used to love David Letterman until he was revealed to be a dirty old man.
75. I love the energy in restaurants.
76. I use a lot of brown sugar in my cooking.
77. I don't understand people who are difficult and abrasive.
78. Sometimes I want another child, but most of the time I don't.
79. The older I get, the more I believe that faith is an intensely personal process.
80. The other day I remembered something really mean I did when I was 12.
81. I fear that I will never get used to the east coast greet-with-a-kiss-on-the-cheek thing. Awkward.
82. I really enjoy and appreciate fast food sometimes.
83. I don't have much interest in super fancy restaurants.
84. I don't think I have enough confidence in myself.
85. I am mildly obsessed with This American Life.
86. I prefer showers to baths.
87. I truly enjoy an un-rushed trip to Target.
88. Sometimes, if I really think about it, the momentum of technology can really freak me out.
89. I haven't made burritos for a long time.
90. I feel sad that Ryan's parents are dead.
91. I love the last mushy bite of an ice cream cone.
92. I am in love with the beach.
93. I wish I would have known my grandparents
94. I have music playing all the time. (Just like my mom.)
95. I am short.
96. I am nervous to be the parent of a teenager.
97. I check my email all the time.
98. I don't keep a regular journal.
99. I am tired.
100. I like grapes.

Christmas Came Early

Confession: I bought myself a Christmas gift.
(I almost got it for free, so that's okay, right?)
It is the Clapper.
Actually, it's the Clapper Plus (with a remote control!).
I couldn't wait for Christmas.
(Because I'm a parent now and nobody can tell me what to do.)
Tore it open, right there in the kitchen.
I am beyond excited about it.
Because now I don't have to climb over my living room couch to turn the lamps on.
Go ahead, make fun.
Someday you'll realize,
As I did,
That it's actually a marvelous invention.

Three Additional Items (Plus Nine More) About Me And Then I'm Done

1. I am a reformed dog fearer/hater. I owe it all to my dog Lucy, the great canine ambassador.
2. I love everything about summer--absolutely everything. Are you sweltering? I'm sorry, I'll take some of that summer off your hands.
3. I prefer road trips to a plane ride, but I don't mind a plane ride at all.
4. When I'm sitting in a class, I always nod and try to give the teacher cues that I'm listening.
5. The older I get, the more liberal I get.
6. My favorite smell is Ryan's cologne, D&G La Lune 18. It's delicious. (I love it so much that I spray it on myself sometimes.)
7. I had a happy and safe childhood, and I understand what a big deal that is. I get it. (Thanks, Mom and Dad.)
8. The more I accept the imperfections in the people I love, the more fully I love them. 
9. I love a good, brisk walk outside in the afternoon, but I love a slow, hand-in-hand stroll around a dark neighborhood, too.
10. I am over-the-moon for my kids. I love them so intensely, I can actually feel a physical ache inside when I think about them.
11. I love and adore Ryan's family as much as my own. 
12. So far, my thirties are my favorite decade. 

I had this great idea when February began that I would share three things about myself in eleven different posts to equal thirty-three things about myself before my thirty-third birthday. (Whew!)

I ran out of time.

But we're all caught up now, and just in time. Today is my thirty-third birthday. It's also Ryan's thirty-third birthday (but we are not fraternal twins). I'm off to celebrate!

Still Blogging After All These Years: Confessions of a Four-Year Blogger

Today my blog is four years old. It doesn't seem real that I have been at this for so long, although in some ways it seems even longer. Perhaps that is because I'm calculating this in Human Years as opposed to Blog Years. In Blog Years, I am 118 years old.

In honor of this anniversary, here is a list of my top 40 blogging confessions:

1. I still like to blog. I get in a slump every now and then and wonder if there is a purpose to this; but like a cheesy love ballad, I always come back.
2. Blogging has made me a better writer, giving me a forum to practice every day.
3. After four years, I still have no ability to predict which posts will get a lot of response.
4. I think blogging is a great way to meet interesting people you wouldn't otherwise meet.
5. When somebody new comments on my blog, I always follow the link to their blog. 
6. A lot of my blogging friendships began in the comments section. 
7. I absolutely consider some of my blog friends (even ones I haven't met in person) real friends.
8. However, I still have some blog shame about this hobby and rarely mention my blog to anybody in real life. 
9. Relatedly, I have only recently become comfortable using the phrase, "I read on somebody's blog..."
10. I still love comments, but I'm not obsessed with them anymore.
11. I have received only one mean comment from somebody who accused me of "extremely juvenile writing."
12. (I responded by throwing myself on the ground and screaming, "Nu-uh, you big dummy meanie-head!")
13. I frequently have to scale back the amount of blogs in my Google Reader. I call it blog dieting.
14. Blogging as a medium fascinates me and confirms my belief that anybody can write and that most people want to.
15. I'm not sure I agree with the theory that all blogs must be defined and fall into a category. I'll be mulling this one over for a while.
16. Right now, I'm slightly obsessed with cooking blogs. 
17. I like blogs with pictures of the author. I like to see the real person behind the blog, which is probably why I post pictures of myself.
18. I sold my first spot of advertising on my blog a few months ago after being approached about it, and I don't even feel like a sell out.
19. For the record, I will definitely accept money to blog.
20. Can you find the ad? It's kind of hard to spot, like Waldo in his snowcap and thick glasses.
21. I don't plot out what I'm going to blog about. Ever.
22. I stand at Blogging's Door and wait for something to drift into my brain before I step inside.
23. I envy those who can plan out their posts.
24. Only a handful of times have I began a post, saved it as a draft, and finished it later. It's now or never, baby.
25. Most of my loved ones read my blog, and that makes me feel happy inside, like they care about what I'm thinking and are interested in knowing me better.
26. In the same spirit, I love reading the blogs of my loved ones. So many treasures that would never occur in conversation can be revealed on a blog.
27. I check Google Analytics fairly regularly to see who is reading and who is referring.
28. I stopped listing a blogroll quite a while ago, simply because I read too many blogs, some of which are private, and I was horrible at updating it (and consequently offending people). 
29. Every morning I read blogs for a few minutes until I need to make breakfast.
30. Anytime I have a spare minute, you'll find me browsing a blog.
31. For the longest time, I felt obligated to read every word a blogger wrote in a post.
32. I no longer feel this obligation, particularly if I don't know the blogger personally. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MONUMENTAL THIS WAS FOR ME TO REALIZE.
33. I also comment less than I ever have, which has made me enjoy blogging more. It is recreation, not obligation.  
34. I used to feel an obligation to post every (week)day. I don't feel that obligation anymore.
35. I used to secretly dream of being a famous blogger. I don't have that dream anymore.
36. Every now and then, I go into my archives to see what I was doing on the same day a year ago, two years ago, three years ago. This is the best I've ever done at keeping a personal history.
37. Though it pains me to admit, I think I'm funnier on my blog than I am in real life.
38. I'm also thinner and more attractive on my blog than in real life.
39. My blog has only been the star of one major marital fight (major=yelling and tears) and a supporting actress in a few lesser arguments. 
40. After a comment my brother made to me last year, I have decided to give up feeling apologetic about time I spend creating, writing, and blogging. I used to feel that it was self-indulgent, I guess. But blogging is a way for me to know myself better, to practice my craft, to stand at the microphone and take all the time I want. And I love that about it. No more apologies.

Do you have any blogging confessions to share? 

Three Things About My Love (Belated Valentine's Edition)

1. I believe that being in love means full support of someone else's goals, dreams, and pursuits. It's doing whatever it takes for however long to make one statement truer than any other, "I never could have done it without you."

2. I believe that being in love means letting the person you love be exactly who they are, and never trying to change them into a version of themselves that you think you might prefer. No changies. No reversies.

3. I believe that being in love means taking only a little piece of the chocolate chip cookie on the counter, leaving the rest for your sweetie. And then later, when you walk by the cookie, you may find that he has taken only a little bit of the cookie, leaving some more for you. And that is called being in love. Or maybe that is called being on a diet together and neither of you should be eating any of the cookie in the first place. In that case, the half-eaten cookie really has nothing to do with love and more to do with a guilty lack of self-control on both parts. But it's definitely one of those two.

Care to share three things about your thoughts on love?

I Almost Forgot These Three Things You Need To Know About Me

1. I've always been a big fan of Thursdays. Thursdays are so likeable! Even my neighbors at the bus stop like Thursdays. On Fridays they say, "Thank Goodness It's Friday!" but on Thursdays, they say "So Happy It's Thursday!" And I'm like, "HEY, ME TOO!"

2. I love back scratches, but not foot rubs. And back rubs. I love back rubs. But I don't like semi-colons.

3. There was a period of my childhood when all of the greeting cards given in my family featured at least one chimpanzee.

Is there anything you're forgetting to tell me about yourself?

In Lieu of a Chapter of My Book

I thought today was going to belong to me. The kids are back to school today after Snowmageddon Round 1. They'll be off tomorrow (and possibly Thursday and Friday) for Round 2. This morning I thought I was going to make some giant chocolate chip cookies and then write, write, write.

Instead, I forfeited my shower time for a trip to Wal-Mart to grab a few things for work and for Valentine's Day and a for meal I was asked to take to a friend who just gave birth. I need to make and deliver the meal before Snowmageddon Round 2 begins this afternoon.

Whenever I get asked to take a meal to someone I panic. I am not one of those people who has a standard recipe that I throw together at a moment's notice. It's like I have to consult the stars. I have to feel the right thing to make. Usually, I come up with an idea and I run it by Ryan who frowns and says, "I'm not sure other people like that as much as you do."

Thanks, honey.

Today the stars told me to make a platter of grilled burritos. They are easy to eat, reheat, and can be used as dog food if Ryan turns out to be right. I mean, really, is there a more versatile meal than that?

I've already made the giant chocolate chip cookies, which will be delivered with the burritos and a jar of salsa. At first I was sad at the thought of giving them up, but it's probably better that I don't keep them. I have unrighteous desires regarding them. I say I only want a tiny piece of one, but you know as well as I do that that statement would not pass any polygraph test. If you love something, give it away.

The beans are simmering on the stove. I've got the Food Network on, as I usually do while I cook. I hypothesize that I will become a better cook through osmosis by having it on; when I'm stirring and saute-ing and kneading, I will be subconsciously tutored by Paula Deen and Bobby Flay. I can't say I've got any proof to support this, but I'm sticking with my theory anyway. It can't hurt and my mom does it too, so I feel validated.

It's time to zhuzh the beans and mix them with the meat. I'll let them get to know each other while I shower and when I finish getting ready, I will wrap them in tortillas with some cheese and grill them the way my mom grilled them for me.

Today was supposed to belong to me, but it didn't. Tomorrow won't belong to me either. Tomorrow I will belong to my kids and the snow shovel and the sticky kitchen counters. It's okay, though. Writing feels good, but it feeds only me. Today I get to feed someone else. Or at least their dog.

Remember! Tomorrow is the deadline for Winter Angst Poetry. The competition is coming along nicely, so add your voice to the depressed, frigid chorus!

Three Things About Me In Six Words (Each)

1. I don't enforce bedtime on weekends.

2. I unapologetically enjoy a McDonald's hamburger.

3. Church cancelled feels like lottery won.

Will you tell me about yourself in six words?

And These Three Things? Terribly Critical Information

1. I am really good at ordering takeout. I guess you could call it a gift. I can do it on a large or small scale, for an entire office or a small family. I will remember to ask for that extra side of vinaigrette; I will make sure there are napkins and straws; and I'm not afraid to ask for extra beans and no cheese, even if I'm ordering a hamburger. Sadly, this gift is under-utilized right now.

2. Before the days of political correctness, I would have been catagorized as an "idiot" but now they have a special, softer name for me: "navigationally challenged." I was able to hide this character trait well enough while living in Utah, with its roads laid out neatly in a giant grid and towering mountain ranges practically flashing in neon, "THIS IS EAST! THIS IS EAST!" But now? Where the roads were designed by a psychotic toddler? I don't know where anything is, how to get there, and please don't expect me to guess how to get back. (Well, except for Target, but that's because I have a natural homing device that could lead me there with my eyes closed.) If you look closely at the bottom of my car, you'll see some fine print: This driver's ability to intentionally get anywhere is made possible by the good people of Garmin.

3. I can waterski on one leg, with the rope hooked on to my toe--another tragically under-utilized talent. (If somebody has photographic evidence of this, please send it to me.) (Especially if it's from when I was skinny.) And just in case you're wondering, the answer is yes, I could order takeout for the entire office while waterskiing on one leg with the rope hooked on my toe. You know, depending on the cell phone coverage.

In other news, I made buttermilk pancakes for the family this morning. I ate two and shoved one in Max's mouth. Christian declined, and Ryan rushed out the door to make it to an appointment. So, what I'm saying here is that I've got a lot of pancakes right now. Want one?

Three More Things You Must Know

1. I use a lot of exclamation points. I'm very liberal with them. Some people want to teach the world to sing, or buy the world a Coke, but I want to give the world an exclamation point. I don't do the "!!!!" thing and use them in multiples, but I tend to end a lot of sentences in a state of exuberance. Often, I have to go back over something I've written and de-exclaim part of it, so that people don't think I'm sniffing glue. I don't sniff glue. I drink Red Bull. I mean, I drink Red Bull!

2. I'm sort of a loner. I like people, and I love my friends, but at the end of the day I'm a loner. I try to fight it (a little bit, and if I feel like it). Part of the problem is that the three people I enjoy being around the most in this world live under my roof. (Unless I have PMS. In that case, I don't really like anybody and for the love of all things good, don't ask me where the screwdriver is. I DON'T KNOW! I AM NOT THE SCREWDRIVER'S KEEPER!) {ahem} Alright. Where were we?

3. (I also use a lot of parentheses.) (But I don't want to share those with the world.) (They are all for me and my witty asides.) But here, have an exclamation point!

Three Things You Really Need to Know About Me

1. I am a big fan of tween sitcoms and have been for years. My favorite tween shows are iCarly, The Wizards of Waverly Place, and Drake & Josh. If you think it's ridiculous, maybe you're not in touch with your inner tween like I am. I will have you know, however, that I am a distinguished tween show watcher. You will never catch me watching stupid shows like Hannah Montanna or The Suite Life of Zack & Cody. (You know, unless there's nothing else on.)

2. Every January and February, I go through a period of iTunes gluttony, downloading many, many songs. I think it's a subconscious way to battle winter. Ryan does not think this is cute, endearing, or necessary. We heard a song on a movie today and he said sarcastically, "Have you downloaded this song yet?" I said, "No, but I prolly will." It was a good song; I'm glad he pointed it out.

3. If I could have chosen my own talents, I would have been a singer/songwriter because I love the idea of crooning with my guitar in a shabby coffee shop waiting to be discovered. I also like titles with slashes in them. From now on I will refer to myself as a writer/eater.

What about you? What are three things I really need to know about you?

It's Back! Winter Angst Poetry Contest

If you're like me, you're on the verge of abandoning your current life to pursue homelessness on a tropical island. Winter is starting to get to me. You know, like psycho-logically.

How many more times can I peel layers of frozen skin off my tender eyelids?
How many more times can I climb inside the preheating oven for warmth without it affecting my health?
How many more times can I pull off the sweater over sweater over sweater with scarf and hoodie and parka and beanie look? With snowpants? (And that's before I head outside.)
How many more times can I throw things at my TV while watching The Real Housewives of Orange County?

In the past, I've found that one of the only ways to combat winter fatigue is with cathartic poetry. So, I'm bringing back the Winter Angst Poetry Competition! (Hold for applause.) Sharpen your pencils and your wit, and waste part of your day trying to amuse me!

The last time I held this competition, I was overwhelmed with the fantastic response--young and old alike filled my inbox with frigid, bitter writing that warmed my heart and made me feel not so alone, bonded together in a worthy cause: winter angst. Ready to play?

Here are the rules:
1. Send your original poetry to tiffany{at}wouldbewritersguild{dot}com. It can be any form of poetry you like—long, short, rhyme-y, moody, whatever (but remember that I’m partial to funny).
2. Make sure your poetry is ridden with hatred for winter. I don’t want to read about cute snowmen or happy, furry woodland creatures. Or the beauty of moonlight on fresh fallen snow. Blecht.
3. Seriously, don’t try to put some positive spin on all this frigid air. I’m warning you.
4. If you are a native of Florida, California, Arizona, or Hawaii you are automatically disqualified. (Well, okay, you’re not disqualified but you probably have no chance at seriously competing. Especially against a Canadian.)
5. Entries must be received by midnight, February 10th.
6. Please, no more than two entries per person.

And now for the prizes(!):

First prize: One TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLAR GIFT CARD TO TARGET! Wait—did I say “THOUSAND” right there? I meant “ORDINARY.”
Second prize: One super awesome Anti-Winter mix CD!
Third prize: Three magnets from my fridge! Woot! Woot!
Honorable mention: One mention in the post. A really honorable one.

Fine print: Judging will be completely subjective and based on my own whims.

So, take that, winter! Spread the word and let the poetry begin!

Limp Lettuce

It's been a lot of limp lettuce around here in the writing department. I can't get a decent blog post to squeeze out of me, and when it comes to my bookus (think fetus), I've been stuck in the middle of a stale scene for days. The characters are on the verge of picketing and calling the union on me.

But the kitchen has remained clean! The counters are wiped down and the floor got a steam bath yesterday!

I'm all about imbalance, borrowing time and energy from some important part of my life to feed another. Teetering on the edge of knowing what I'm doing and second-guessing everything. When I'm frustrated creatively, my practical side vacuums and dusts. If I'm running away from writing, I find solace in the laundry. It makes me feel less guilty to be slacking off creatively if I'm using the time to tidy. Quit nagging me, Creative Side, I'm doing something really important! LAUNDRY IS REALLY IMPORTANT! Sheesh!


If you ever come over and the sink is piled with three-day-old dishes and there's no clean socks, you can be sure that I'm on a writing roll. Or that there's been a Project Runway marathon on TV. 

It's a classic case of robbing Peter to pay Paul, except that Peter and Paul were big-hearted disciples who preached about forgiveness. I'm robbing Martha Stewart to pay Judi Dench, and you don't want to mess with either of those chicks.

The problem with imbalance is that I'm forever letting some piece of myself down. I'm in constant apology to Neglected Things I Should Be Doing. Is this the plight of every adult? At least the women? I jalopy my way through every week. On Monday morning, I'm determined to finally get it right, but when I close the door on Friday, I'm shrugging my shoulders saying, "Oh well."

Is it because I want and need to be doing too many things? Or because I don't get enough whole grains? Or is it because I never read any of those Stephen Covey books?

I think I'm going to make a study of Snoopy the dog; he totally seemed to have it all together.

Back to Where it All Began

For most people, seventh-grade English is inconsequential, a stepping stone filled with worksheets and grammar books and simple themes in classic stories. Most people don't walk into seventh-grade English looking for a spouse. Of course, I didn't either, but I got one. I totally won the seventh-grade English grand prize lottery.

I can still picture Mrs. White's classroom. It was on the second floor of the school, blue carpet, green chalkboards in the front, and a row of windows in the back. Her neat cursive writing displayed the latest lesson in chalk. I joined the class the first day of the second quarter of school. In fact, my whole schedule had been revamped and it felt like the first day of school all over again, except that I was months late and everybody else already knew what was going on. Oh, I was nervous, as evidenced by the seventeen changes of clothes that morning.

I was shown my seat near the front of the room, right behind a boy named Ryan. And even though seventh-grade boys and girls don't generally mingle comfortably on the first day of the second quarter of seventh grade (that generally happens on the last day of the fourth quarter), something clicked. We began talking, which, as it turns out, is one of the things we do best. We were talking prodigies, ready for the Talking Olympics, and born for marathon conversations.

By the second day of class, Mrs. White moved me across the room. Who could blame her? (Although, if you're going to talk excessively, shouldn't it be in English class?)

Fast-forward 20 years.

Ryan and I were working one day at our respective laptops when he said, "You're never going to believe this." He went on to read an email from Mrs. White! As luck and Google would have it, she'd tracked him down after finding out that he'd grown up and tackled a PhD and become a professor. I'm guessing that aside from immediate family, nobody is more tickled with that kind of accomplishment than your seventh-grade english teacher.

Mrs. White also mentioned that she would be in Washington, D.C., for a conference and asked if we'd be interested in meeting for dinner. Our answer: Oh, yes!

It was the kind of moment you don't expect to have in life, unless you're someone like Oprah who coordinates these emotional meetings every other day. (We did it without Oprah!) We'd done all the correspondence by email, which is why, when I heard Mrs. White's voice on the phone Saturday afternoon to touch base and confirm, I let out a giggle. The sound of her voice took me back immediately to my seat in the corner of her classroom. I almost expected her to ask me if I had my homework to turn in.

We met on a busy D.C. street, exchanged hugs, introduced our children and her husband, and waited for a table. We then enjoyed a few hours together, reminiscing and catching up. She looked older, but not 20 years older. I'm sure it was Ryan and me who had changed the most. But, then so much seemed the same. She still had the same enthusiasm for education; it's practically infectious. And Ryan and I still have the same knack for wanting to sit by each other.

Of course, it couldn't go without pointing out that Christian, our son, is approximately the same age that we were when it all began. He didn't seem as freaked out and amused by it as we all were, staring at his young face and realizing the sheer unlikelihood of our story. I mean, really! What are the odds?!

We parted ways again on the street, exchanging hugs, and promising to keep in touch. I don't need Oprah to tell me--this was a night to remember forever.

I've mentioned before that much of middle school and high school was hellishly terrible and terribly hellish. It was so nice to revisit and relish in a good memory. It was nice to be reminded that the worst of times was also the best of times, that winning the seventh-grade English class grand prize lottery may have been accompanied by some pretty steep taxes, but at the end of the day, I was still the big winner.

Any Way You Slice It

A lot of my weekend revolved around pizza, good pizza. If you want to have a good weekend, make it revolve around good pizza. You're guaranteed success.

On Friday night, my neighbor called and asked if we wanted to get together for dinner. Unlikely as it was, I preferred not to go out. Instead, I invited them over for homemade pizza. The kids ate in the family room and watched TV while the four adults sat around my kitchen island talking and eating a parade of pizzas as they came out of the oven: barbeque chicken pizza, honey chicken pizza, and Thai chicken pizza. We didn't use plates; we barely used napkins. We ate and licked our fingers and talked and talked and talked. When we ran out of pizza, I sliced pears and oranges and we talked while we ate those too.

Saturday afternoon, I got a text invitation from another neighbor. A new pizza place had been discovered. We accepted the invitation and bid the kids farewell. We ate broccoli rabe and sausage pizza in a dark corner while Ryan told us sad stories. If you're going to hear a sad story, make sure you're eating really good pizza. At one point, I used the bathroom. The stall was decorated with framed pictures of Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, and a young, vibrant Elvis. I asked them to close their eyes while I tinkled.

Sunday afternoon, I made another honey chicken pizza for lunch. Max said that once he removed the chicken, the pizza was, "so, sooo good." (As compared to so-so good.)

Today, a day off, we ate pizza again. My nephew, the D.C. intern, came to visit. We took him with us to see Avatar and then we stopped for pizza at the same place we ate on Saturday night. This time, though, we sat in a bright corner and told happy stories. There was Philly cheesesteak pizza, but I think my nephew preferred the plain ol' cheese pizza best. Later, we dropped him off at the bus station and waited in the parked car until we saw him board his bus. He looked so young and I felt so old. I was glad he had a couple of slices of pizza in a take-out box to keep him company for his bus ride back.

Tomorrow another week starts. There are science projects to finish, catalogs to proof, and hours of Haitian relief-efforts to watch. There are bedtimes to enforce and sheets to wash and nieces and nephews to confirm as friends on facebook.

I love the weekend. And pizza.

Channeling Russell Edson

Last night my writing group did a miniature study of the poet Russell Edson. I have become a big fan of his over the years, taking a trip into the absurd and coming back with a refreshing new view. (A few favorites here, here, and here.) I also like dabbling in his style. This is what I wrote last night:

The Humbled Sun

The sun got a self-help book for Christmas and realized 

that it had spent eternities demanding to be the center of attention.

It stepped out of orbit 

and delivered a sincere letter of apology to each planet, 

even pouty Pluto with the low self-esteem.

The letters were all basically the same--

I'm sorry it was all about me. 

I'm sorry that you never got a chance to shine.

I'm sorry for believing that without me, you would fail.

The humbled sun was so proud of himself, 

and secretly satisfied when the universe collapsed in his wake.

If you're feeling mundane today, spend a few minutes channeling your inner Russell Edson. You won't regret it!

More Leaping, Less Looking

Oprah would be so proud of me. I had an "aha" moment in the car this morning so profound that I pulled over and wrote it out in my notebook. I'm not sure it was generally profound, more like personally profound. You probably figured it out years ago. I don't think I can explain it properly because so much is contextual and historical, but the gist of it is that I'm going to create a big, messy preschool painting for God to hang on His fridge.

See? I knew it would be hard to explain.

Okay, I'll take a stab at explaining it.

I'm going to live a big, vibrant, messy, wrinkly, colorful life filled with risks and mistakes and lessons learned the hard way. It's even going to have little pieces of dried macaroni glued to it to represent my love of carbohydrates.

I think I have held myself back for too long in a conscious effort to avoid making mistakes. And while I've been relatively successful at avoiding many big mistakes, I have closed the door on too many things (experiences, opportunities, even people) because there was a risk of failure. Or it seemed scary. Or unnecessary. Or irresponsible. Or illogical. Fill in the blank.

For 32 years, I have equated mistakes with failure, which is the biggest mistake of all. And speaking of failure, what's so bad about failing every now and then? Every painting needs some dark tones, and besides that, black is slimming.

The irony, of course, is that I've made plenty of mistakes along the way. So, the only things I really avoided were opportunities to have my mind and experience expanded. And the absolute last thing I want out of life is a narrow mind. The very thought of it makes me claustrophobic.

So that's what happened to me in the car this morning. In a vortex of heated seats, indie music, and winding country roads, I figured out that this canvas of my life is waiting not for my carefully crafted portrait, but for my big, sloppy, masterpiece. With dried macaroni.

Insert Vacation Photo Here

We returned home from vacation tonight, having spent the last several days in our coats, hats, gloves, and scarves in Florida. 2010 is starting out with a healthy dose of irony.

I left my camera in my purse the whole vacation and I left my purse in the hotel room the whole vacation. I resigned from my position as the family pack mule, leaving each morning with only what I could fit in my pockets. So, I have no photographic evidence that we ever set foot in Florida last week. And I'm totally okay with that.

When I get home from vacation, I have to start doing the laundry right away. Like, within the first 30 minutes. I don't know why, and please don't get under the impression that I am one of those neat freaks. I'm not. Maybe I like the white noise, the hum and tumble of my washer and dryer working together. Perhaps it brings back ancient memories of my time in the womb. My mom had five kids already when she was pregnant with me, so she was pretty much doing laundry non-stop until 1999 or so.

I remember sitting inside the dryer when I was a toddler (78% of you just cringed). I'd sit in the drum, with the door wide open while my mom folded laundry. My legs were folded like a pretzel and I'd swish left and right like a sideways swing.

Maybe if I'd played inside the old, abandoned refrigerator like my brother Lyle, I'd clean out my fridge more often. Lyle was such a fridge hog!

Sigh. Good times.

Anyway, I really love a vacation, but what I love even more is coming home. I'm tired of being transient and I'm even more tired of those stupid automated sinks in public bathrooms that turn on two seconds of water for every forty-seventh idiotic clap and wave of the hands. Please, sink, please may I have a little more water to wash off the soap? How about if I do Jazz Hands? Will Jazz Hands get me water? The automated sinks are on a power trip if I've ever seen one.

I know this didn't really tie together, but it's late. Insert tied-together ending here.

Resolved (Or, Count the Metaphors)

I haven't started 2010 yet. I'm waiting until the time is right, standing outside the wildly churning revolving door that will take me from 2009's sidewalk and drop me off in the lobby of 2010. The timing has to be right, you know, to avoid disaster--stumbles, falls, and face plants. And don't forget about stray shoelaces that can get caught. A stray shoelace can result in a severed leg or a sprained pinky.

Obviously, there's a lot to think about on the sidewalk of 2009.

I've been taking a break to become refreshed and renewed, which is how I was hoping to be when I arrive fashionably late in 2010. In fact, I applied my eye cream morning and night twice last week in preparation.

In addition to skin care, I've been reading others' resolutions and themes and trying to decide how it is that I'm going to approach this new year. There is definitely a list of things I want to accomplish, at least a dozen adjectives I'd like to acquire, and three or four verbs I'd like to master, but I haven't decided if I am at an all-you-can-resolve buffet, or dining on a tiny-but-meaningful plate at the Bistro of Becoming.

Something can happen, though, if you wait too long to start a new year. If I'd seen any of the Matrix movies, I could explain this better, but it's sort of a strange limbo world that you find yourself in and it begins to make you a little crazy. And by "a little crazy" I mean "eating empty calories to the point of sickness." It's possible that my time off left me nothing but neurotic. And chubby.

To be perfectly honest, I'm not all that pleased with Me, Version 2009. I was like a regrettable computer upgrade--lots of potential, but too many frustrating quirks. I have been planning to accomplish many incredible things as soon as.......what? As soon as I grew up? As if I wasn't allowed to be great until some artificial date arrived and made me valid. In the mean time, I successfully discovered 1001 ways to waste time, including number 678: The Real Housewives of Atlanta. 

I have to do better this year.

Tomorrow the year 2010 turns one week old, and my time on 2009's sidewalk will expire. (Did you know you can only delay starting a new year for one week? I learned that from watching Matrix trailers on YouTube, which is, incidentally, Way to Waste Time #843.) I'll have no choice but to bite my lip, hop into that salad spinner of a door and step foot into the new decade.

I've got serious butterflies. (And shoelaces tied in double-knots.) But I'm ready. I mean, if I can keep an entire year from starting, what can't I do?