Things I tell myself...

I've had a headache every day this week. I don't know what is wrong. But in a twisted way, it reminds me that I am alive. Yay for bodies!

I wish I had children when I see babies and cute baby things. I am glad other people can have babies. It makes the waiting for something to happen a little more hopeful.

Ryan and I have no idea what is going to happen to us come May 31st. I am treating it as an adventure and a surprise.

I gained some holiday pounds. That means I have enough to eat.

I feel like I am constantly cleaning. That means I have a place to keep clean.

I am tired when I get home every day, but I am grateful I have a job and things that fill my life.

Getting the invite to my 10 year high school reunion made me realize I still picture myself as being 18...and an idiot. I didn't like that realization, but then I thought about all that's happened. I may still be an idiot, but I think I am less of one thanks to all the experiences and people who have crossed my path in the last 10 years.

Sometimes, I hate cooking dinner, but I am lucky to have someone come home and eat it with me.

As you can see, I am working on my attitude.

I always liked Dawn...

If you read The Babysitter's Club series as an adolescent you should check this link out.

I wish I had thought of this first...and I can't wait to get my llama farm!

Score one for Prudie

I was reading Dear Prudence this morning. A reader asked about how she could get out of holding friends' babies (the reader wanted to bring meals by, visit, etc. but uncomfortable holding infants). Prudie gave some good advice, but later another reader piped in and Prudie shut that person down! I laughed so hard...here it is:

Q. Holding Babies: All parents think their children are irresistible, and they will insist on you taking a turn holding the baby. The only way to get out of it without vomit on your blouse is to say you are ill. Of course, that will also give an excuse to cut out early. Babies are like farts—you can only tolerate your own.

A: Maybe instead of going to visit your friends with the new babies, you should send a gift then just stay home and enjoy your farts.

Clarification of last post...

I hope no one reads my little anecdote as a bitter memory of child abuse. If I was a mother with an uncooperative child I would probably do the same exact thing. I was just thinking about the incident yesterday, and the scenes of these memories were amusing to me. I wanted to write them down. I had a great childhood full of funny incidents like most well adjusted people.

Childhood Story

Like most prospective kindergartners I had to get vaccinated for almost every sickness under the sun, or at least my five- year- old memory seems to recall it that way. I definitely knew what a shot was because I used to get pneumonia every Spring and a shot was the cure. My five- year- old self viewed a needle akin to a rusty sword. No way was I going to submit to that.

My mom knew she couldn't just say, "get in the car, it's shot time!" and expect me to cooperate. If she had any hopes of getting me there in peace I could not know about it. I am not sure if she enlisted my grandma's help or if Grandma came up with the scheme, but I do know it was successful because I was a kid and kids are dumb-- at least in the cruel ways of the world.

My grandma came over and picked up my mom, brother, and me. She said we were going to a party. You might as well have told me I was going to Disneyland. I was so excited. I imagined balloons, kids, and cake even as I was riding in the elevator at the courthouse downtown.

At some point, we were in line for something. I asked where the party was and if it was going to be there. Grandma told me that my brother needed to get shots before the party. Even then, I did not suspect that it was all a deception. My mind was at ease. I even watched when two-year- old Cameron's turn came for the shots, but was shocked when somebody grabbed me when he jumped off the chair. He never cried. Actually, he liked it and offered to take mine.

I started flailing and screaming. I don't remember if I sat on my mom's lap or Grandma's, but somebody had their arms around me and then at least two or three nurses had to hold me down and administer the vaccinations. In all my trauma I do remember there was some needle pokes, a finger prick, on oral, and something on the back of my hand-- lots of vaccinations that day.

When it was over, I was disgusted by the deception but wanted comfort and held my grandma's hand. In the elevator down I asked if we were going to the party now. I was told that was the party. So my grandma took me to my uncle's high school swim meet. That would have been a good party if I had been allowed to get in the pool.