The Player

The point when Steve called in the big guns.

I like to play games. And, by games, I mostly mean board games, although any sort of game that involves mental exercise will do. There are all kinds of board games out there. My favorite ones are not the social ones where you interact with other people verbally or the chance ones where you’re relying on the roll of the dice but the ones where you try to outsmart and outmaneuver other people quietly. I openly admit that I used Luke’s birthday this year as an excuse to buy a board game I’ve had my eye on for a while called Qwirkle. The game has won a Parent’s Choice Gold Award as well as a Mensa Select Award. I figured that any game that Mensa found award worthy was probably something I should play, not because I’m a candidate for Mensa (I’m not qualified to be in the top 2% of any group unless you’re talking about the top 2% of wives that drive their husbands insane on a daily basis) but because this is obviously a thinking game and I am obviously a thinking gal.

So tonight I pulled out the game and forced hubby to learn it with me. I’m sure he was thrilled. He always loves it when I drag him into this stuff. But, I know he’s smart (although not quite as smart as me because he scored two points below me on an IQ test we both took), so it’s fun to play strategic games with him. We read the directions, gathered our tiles, and started play. Being the generous gal I am, I even allowed him to go first. The game started out slowly while we were still discovering the ins and outs of play and scoring, but it was intriguing enough to continue. I could tell I was truly going to like this game. About halfway through the game tiles, I started to pull ahead in the scoring and that’s when things really became fun.

“Let’s see,” I said, sizing up my scoring in a particularly good run, “12 points for my Qwirkle and then 3 points for that row and 5 points for that row. That’s…..”

Hubby cut me off. “If you can’t count high enough to add the points, then I don’t think you should get the points.”

“Har, har,” I said, adding 20 to my score column. “Your turn.”

He took his turn and scored 7 points.

“That’s good,” I said, trying to be encouraging.

“Don’t patronize bunny rabbits,” he said. “What’s the score?”

“You’ve got 134 and I’m at 177, but it’s my turn so we’ll see after that.”

Just then Luke walked over. “Who’s winning?” he inquired.

“Your mom is.”

Luke looked at Steve’s tiles and then at the table and then back at Steve’s tiles.

“I think I can help you, Dad,” he said.

“Hey…wait a minute.” I stopped him. “Do you really think it’s fair to play two against one?”

“Well, if Luke wants to help, we should let him. It is his game,” Steve answered.

“Well…if you need a 9 year old to help you win, that’s fine by me,” I countered.

The game continued. Luke was able to help Steve make up some of his deficit, but I still beat them by 30 points. As soon as the game was done, Steve started swiping the tiles from the table into the cloth bag to put them away.

I tried to get the boys to play, but it was after 9 and they were tired and ready for bed. I really hate it when I’m high on a victory and no one will humor me with another game. Some people prefer to quit while they’re ahead. Not me. When I’m winning, I’ll keep right on playing. When I lose, it’s time to find something else to do. Apparently that’s Steve’s M.O. too because he was off after our game faster than a dress on prom night. Oh well. I may not quite be Mensa smart, but I’m clever enough to know that if you want people to continue playing with you, you’ve got to be not only a good player but also a gracious winner. I can do that. I can take a break for the night. I can always kick Steve’s butt again tomorrow.

(PS…Another thing I know about playing games…a round of trash talk will get you another game faster than a polite request. Just saying.)

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By Order Of The Queen Of LaLa Land

Joe…out and about as we did our Adopt-A-Highway time today

If I were the Queen, I would make quite a few changes.

1) Every person over the age of the 18 would be required to work at least one hour unpaid per month serving in their community by working at shelters (people or pet), picking up trash outside, assisting the elderly, or otherwise aiding the less fortunate.

2) Anyone demonstrating a lack of understanding between “yield” and “merge” would be put in the dungeon.

3) Gummi bears would contain no calories and comprise the largest portion of the Food Pyramid.

4) The punishment for tossing a cigarette butt of a car window would be beheading.

5) Every model would be a size 8, and not the current size 8 (which is actually a size 12).

6) Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, headwriters for the now defunct, popular ABC drama LOST, would have to explain every single mystery they left unanswered from the show. I’m not kidding. Just because the show was called LOST does not mean it should have ended with every single viewer actually being lost.

7) Every household would be required to recycle at least 50% of their household trash.

8) No man over the age of 19 would be allowed to wear plastic, white sunglasses…unless he was Shaun White.

9) Wolves would be reintroduced in all lower 48 states to help control the deer population. They might eat a few people too, but that would simply prove Darwin’s Survival of the Fittest postulation.

10) Justin Bieber and Lindsey Lohan would be placed in a rocket and launched into outer space where they might actually be happy together, but no one would care.

11) Women’s uteruses would be free from government legislation, same-sex marriages would be not only granted but socially accepted, and stay-at-home parenting would be the most highly regarded profession.

12) Tattoos of any Disney, Looney Tunes, or other cartoon-like character would have to be placed on a body part not seen by the general public.

13) All men would be required to lift the toilet seat before peeing and place it gently back down into place afterward. Any man caught in non-compliance would be forced to clean every toilet in their home every day for a full year.

14) My husband (who is not the king, by the way) would be locked in shackles for an indeterminate amount of time for stealing the covers and then complaining about how hot it was while he was sleeping.

Perhaps my queenly wishes seem a bit ridiculous. I suppose you think the only thing I am the Queen of is LaLa Land. There’s no way even a queen as powerful as I am could bring about the kind of sweeping change I’m espousing here. You silly fool! It’s not my job to figure out how to make these things happen. That’s your job. I’m the Queen and you do my bidding. End of story. Now, get busy or off with your head.

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The Adventures of Cow Man and Big Muscle

Cow Man and Big Muscle…new superheroes.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world and all there ever will be to know and understand.” ~Albert Einstein

My boys finished school the other day, but it wasn’t until today that it was obvious that summer had at last begun for them. At 8:15 p.m., they were still outside, tearing around the neighbor’s yard with their neighbor buddies, chasing, yelling, and laughing incessantly. They were so loud I had to close the kitchen window so I could hear the television. I knew it then it was officially summer vacation.

Before they ran outside, they had gone into the basement and put on some ridiculous costumes. Their buddies were also at home donning crazy costumes for what Joe swore was going to be an “epic battle” between good and evil. They’ve been watching too much of The Avengers. Joe’s costume was comprised of pieces from two different Halloween costumes. His bottom half was a ninja and his top half was a knight. The best part was the fuzzy helmet from last year’s Warrior Dash, which gave him horns. He explained that his character was Cow Man. Cow man is half cow/half man and is not to be confused with a Minotaur, which is clearly half man/half cow. Luke’s character was Big Muscle. He was wearing part of a Star Wars costume for Darth Maul. Underneath that muscled costume were two other costumes added to give him the appearance of massive, bulky muscles. Luke’s outfit was completed by an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap, which somehow made him look like his two-year-old alter ego, Race Car Man, but I didn’t tell him that. Big Muscle, Luke informed me, is also known one day a year as Big Butt, but he told me that was a story for another time and they rushed out the door to rendezvous with their equally crazy superhero friends.

This morning the boys had their award ceremony at school. It’s one of my favorite events of the year because each child is given an award based on their character. Today Luke was, for the second time in three years, given an award for being “Delightful.” (No doubt in my mind that he wholeheartedly believes that award is well-deserved.) Joe was given an award for being “Tenderhearted,” which aptly describes my deep thinker. While I highly doubt either of my boys will ever earn the highly coveted Principal’s Award, which is given to students with straight A grades and flawless conduct, I like to think that their vast and unbridled imaginations will carry them far all the same. I appreciate their ability to think outside the box, to envision the seemingly impossible, and to dream beyond their reality. When I see Cow Man and Big Muscle, I recognize their potential. I have creative boys who take something like The Avengers and remake it into something all their own. They don’t simply parrot what they see; they improve upon it. My guys aren’t superheroes yet, but I imagine it could happen. When they do become Cow Man and Big Muscle someday and come to visit me, I know Cow Man will leave his cow patties in the backyard and Big Muscle will not discuss his Big Butt at the dinner table. After all, behind every great superhero is a supermom who taught him everything she knows.

 

 

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The World’s Best Kindergarten Teacher

Luke with Miss Jackie at Unique Prints. He had to try to stay inside the barrel why she tried to toss him out. He loved that game. The look on his face is pure joy. Money well spent.

My boys were fortunate enough to have the world’s best kindergarten teacher. She literally changed their lives with her insights into them and their issues and with her genuine love for them and their uniqueness. Sandra was the first one to suggest to me that there might be an issue that was causing our oldest son to be years behind his classmates in terms of fine and gross motor skills. It was Sandra that pointed us to Unique Prints, a therapy gym specializing in children with Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). Sandra gently helped us to see what we had not understood or were not willing to acknowledge. Our boys needed extra help, and there was no shame in that.

As I look back now over the last five years, it’s amazing the progress I’ve seen in my boys. They still battle some sensory issues, but they’ve come such a long way. The time I spent driving them an hour round trip to Unique Prints two or three times a week so they could “play” in the occupational therapy gym while I sat in the waiting room was well worth it. Because of Joe’s original diagnosis with SPD, we were able to diagnose more quickly that he had ADHD as well. Therapy is expensive, but we were fortunate to have great insurance that paid for most of what our boys needed. There are plenty of people out there who want to do the right thing to help their children but don’t have the means we do to get them the help they need.

When our youngest was in Sandra’s kindergarten class, he had a classmate with whom he continually knocked heads. I often worried about Luke in these tussles because Luke is a small kid and his classmate was on the other end of the size spectrum. I was concerned that Luke was being bullied because Luke told me he was sometimes afraid of the other boy. I went to talk to Sandra about my concerns, and she pulled me aside and let me know that the other child involved had issues of his own. She never disclosed exactly what was going on with him, but she told me that his family struggled with his issues the same way we were struggling with Joe and Luke’s issues. She also told me that they were good parents who were trying to do the best for their child that they could. Her honesty about the situation helped me to understand. I felt bad that I had looked at that other child the way I’m sure other parents had looked at my children with their issues, with no compassion or desire to understand but with judgment. And, in the end, when the other boy left the school to get more specialized treatment, I was truly sad to see him go.

Today, Sandra posted a link to this video for a family looking for assistance for their not one, but two, sons with autism. The family would love to get a therapy dog to help their boys. But, therapy dogs cost around $6k, and that’s a lot of pocket change for most families. I watched the video because Sandra had recommended it, and Sandra is good people. I immediately recognized that the older son in the video was Luke’s old classmate. I watched the video and had a good cry. It’s amazing how life works sometimes, how it puts you in touch with people and situations that, if you’re lucky enough to be paying attention, will teach you the lessons you need to learn.

Life is hard. We all have our challenges and limitations. We all are on a journey that no one else can take for us. I can’t expect other people to be patient with my sons’ issues if I’m not willing to be patient and understanding about the struggles other families are having. And, as hard as it has been at times to parent my unique, sensory-challenged boys, I’m so incredibly blessed to have gotten off as easily as I have. Sometimes it takes a special reminder to bring you back to gratitude and peace with the way things are. Today I’m grateful for such a reminder courtesy of the world’s best kindergarten teacher ever….the one who even manages to teach adults a thing or two.

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Destination Unknown

The boys and I last July 20th…a day when we woke up with no plans and landed at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.

I don’t often take the time to watch videos on YouTube, but when my friend Kim posted a link today to a commencement address delivered by Maria Shriver entitled The Power of the Pause, it seemed like something that might be worth 20 minutes of my time. It was. Maria, addressing the graduating class at the USC Annenberg School of Communication, spoke to the graduates not about how they could fast forward themselves into a promising and exciting career in journalism but rather about the need to press the pause button occasionally and focus on the present. Far too often in life the questions we receive are about what we will be doing next rather than where we are now and how we are doing in the moment. We miss the present while talking about and planning for the future.

Today was the last full day of school this year for my boys. This day is bittersweet for me each year. On the one hand, I’m mourning the lost of my freedom, my opportunities to have quiet time to myself or chances to meet with friends without noisy boys in tow. On the other hand, though, the last day of school means the last day of waking up early, the last day of making lunches, and the last day of being homework coach…all things I do not miss for the three months they are not part of my life. So, what do I do with all the extra time I garner with the end of school and my school year responsibilities? For years now it’s been my modus operandi to busily plan out a whole slew of events for the boys and I for their vacation. Heaven forbid we waste one moment of glorious summer.

Listening to Maria’s speech today, though, as I was compiling yet another list of activities and was focused again on future events, I pressed the pause button and stopped to reflect. I spend an awful lot of time in my house each summer planning out excursions for the boys and myself when I could simply go with the flow and live in the moment. Instead of concocting outings days or weeks in advance, I could just wake up, grab some gear, tell the boys to get in the car, and see where we end up. It might be a refreshing change if instead of rushing off to one thing or another we just decided on a moment by moment basis how to make the best use of our summer. My parents used to do this with my sisters and I when we were kids. They would throw us in the car and when we’d ask where we were going they would tell us, “Wherever the spirit leads us.” Sometimes we would end up nowhere but back in our driveway. Sometimes we’d end up having ice cream in a park. We never knew the ending until it was over. There’s something so freeing in that.

I know it’s unrealistic to think that I would ever be able to get out of my head entirely. I’m a thinker, and certain things must be planned because this is modern life and modern life includes schedules and appointments. But, I like this idea of pressing the pause button occasionally to make sure you’re not messing up the present by worrying too much about what comes next. Maybe it would do the boys and I some good to be human beings this summer rather than human doings? I don’t know. I guess we’ll see. I’m going to leave a lot of blank days on our calendar so the boys and I can see where the spirit leads us. Summer starts tomorrow and, for once, our destination is unknown.

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How To Survive Chuck E Cheese

The birthday boy practices his Skeeball skills.

Eleven years ago, when hubby and I were the definition of semi-young, urban professionals living in Denver without children, we swore up and down that you would never catch us in Chuck E Cheese. We would drive by one and shiver. Why would anyone purposely enter an establishment with mechanical, singing characters, an underpaid dude wearing a large mouse suit, sub par food, and way, way too many noisy and germ-enhanced children. Ewwwwwwww. When we had our boys, we vowed we would never take them there. Never.

It turns out never is a really long time when you have a 4 year old and a 6 year old who have been invited to a birthday party there and don’t want to miss it. In fact, it’s amazing how quickly “never” becomes “imminently” when you’re listening to your children whine non-stop about a place they’ve never been. So, hubby and I decided that attending a soiree hosted by the incredibly popular Chuck E Cheese was simply a right of passage into the American Parenthood Club, and we caved.

Perhaps it was because we were so terrified of the place that our first experience there was actually not that bad. We quickly discovered what many parents already had; the beauty of Chuck E Cheese is that you can spend two hours without your children while still technically being with your children. We hardly saw our boys during the time we were there. They were off tearing through the place like squirrels on crack, and no one even noticed their behavior. With all the commotion, our kids’ usual decibel level (which hovers somewhere between snow blower and rock concert) seemed not at all off-putting. Steve and I somehow managed to have an hour’s worth of mostly uninterrupted conversation and we played video games for the first time in 25 years. It was very nearly a date. Our babysitter was a human-sized, baseball-cap wearing grey mouse.

Over the years we’ve come to embrace the occasional trip to Chuck E Cheese as less of a prison sentence and more of a night at the carnival. It’s not something we want to do all the time, but once in a while we can stomach it. Here is how we do it.

1) We bring a friend. Tonight’s friend was Captain Morgan. If you’re going to have kid-friendly pizza and soda for dinner, you might as well make it a meal you enjoy. It’s a little easier to palate the pizza and ignore the ambiance when you have a drink to take the edge off. Sure. Some of the restaurants sell beer and wine, but it’s not worth your money. Besides, it’s more fun to be a rebel, smuggle in your own booze, and spike your own punch. Come on. All the cool kids are doing it.

2) Set yourself up in a booth as far away from the party space as humanly possible. I mean, you can only tolerate singing mechanical animals for so long before your IQ begins to drop. And, it will only depress you when you realize that the animals are singing songs from when you were in high school, and that’s why now you’re singing them too. If you leave singing “Everybody Wang Chung Tonight,” don’t say I didn’t warn you.

3) Come prepared to spend a wad on game tokens. You’ll need an ample supply to keep the kids away, and you’ll need some for yourself too. Think of Chuck E Cheese as Vegas without the show girls. You’re not going to win big, but you’re not really there to win. You’re there to play. So, play. Check your decorum at the door, throw some footballs at a target, and play Frogger if you want. No one will judge you if you try to beat the high score you left behind in 1985.

Chuck E Cheese is not my favorite place. It’s certainly not where I would choose to spend my birthday dinner. But, it was where my 9 year old wanted to have his birthday dinner tonight. Five years ago, I would have freaked out at his suggestion. Tonight, I merely relished the opportunity to kick his little butt at Skeeball. Chuck E Cheese isn’t the Antichrist. It just seems that way at first. Like most things in parenting, it’s all about perspective.

 

 

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Pregnant Pause

What the dress looked like in my head when I put it on for the party

Today, in honor of my son’s birthday party, from my newly set up summer closet I pulled out a cute dress that I’ve been dying to wear. It’s actually a tunic top that many women have to wear with leggings, but I get to wear it as a mini-dress because I’m height challenged. I love the dress because it’s soft and comfortable, the pattern is fun, and it’s green (I love green). At any rate, an hour before the party I threw the dress on and felt pretty good in it. So, I left it on.

I wore it for the entire party, never once feeling self-conscious in it. When the party was over, hubby downloaded the photos. That was when I freaked out. The dress was not nearly as flattering on me as I had imagined it was. I’d just spent 3 hours entertaining 20 people and, now that they were all gone, I could see what I looked like to them through the camera’s eye. Not good.

Depressed and disappointed in myself for being oblivious of the obvious, I stopped looking at the party photos and went to sit on the couch with my family. Finally, with the photos still reeling around my head, I asked my three boys what they thought about my outfit today. Steve, ever positive, said he loved it. Luke said he thought I looked pretty like I always do. (He’s a natural born politician.) I rolled my eyes. I knew they were being disingenuous. I asked for some honesty. Joe gave it to me.

“Well…when I first saw you in it, I did think you looked a tiny bit pregnant.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Not a lot. Just a little,” he hedged, sensing his brutal honesty might have been a tiny bit of a mistake.

My head was swimming. A tiny bit pregnant. As if looking a tiny bit pregnant when you’re not is better than looking a lot pregnant when you’re not. Looking any bit of pregnant when you’re about to turn 44 and are most certainly not pregnant is never a good thing. End of story.

In reality, what the dress looks like when you’re a tiny bit pregnant or merely like cupcakes a little bit too much.

“Joe,” Steve said, hoping to ameliorate the rapidly declining situation, “your mother does not look pregnant.”

“I didn’t say she looks pregnant,” he replied. “I said she looks a tiny bit pregnant. Besides, she told me to be honest.”

I reached down toward my chest, plucked the arrow from my heart, closed my hand over the gaping wound there, and tried desperately to keep from bleeding out all over our family room sofa. I know I am not at my lowest weight ever. I know I haven’t been to as many yoga classes recently as I should have been. But, pregnant? That was almost more than I could bear. I snuggled closer to my new favorite son, Luke, and tried to walk toward the light. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

I realize that I am overly self-critical and my own worst enemy. I also realize that most people at the party probably did not think I looked as horrific as I felt when I saw the photos. I further understand that no one was paying that much attention to me in any case. Still, I can’t help but feel a bit scalded by the truth in Joe’s words. At the very least, I will never again feel the same way in that dress as I did before his comments.

He’s right. I did ask for it. I went seeking their honest opinions and I’m not sure I can fault Joe for offering his, especially when I know that he was right. Still, the entire situation left me with a tiny bit of a pregnant pause.

 

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Every Age With My Boys Is A Good Age

Our little boys

One of my husband’s college roommates came to breakfast at our house today. Because Scott lives clear across the country near Philadelphia, this was only the second time he’s had the immense privilege of hanging out with our boys. The last time he saw them, they were roughly 4 and 6, and a bit more difficult to manage than they are now. Today, while we enjoyed steak and eggs and a few hours of conversation with Scott, our boys played quietly either upstairs or in the basement. They interrupted us only once to ask us to look at the whale that had appeared on Wii Sports Resort while Joe was jetskiing.

A couple times during his visit, Scott commented that our boys were so well-behaved. I had to laugh. While I know our boys are pretty good kids, I never truly think of them as being well-behaved. I suppose that’s because most of the time I’m with them they’re driving me insane with non-stop chatter, fart noises, and references to “gunships,” “hot lava,” and “Sector 4.” But, today, they were quite accommodating while we were with our friend. They didn’t stay in the room eavesdropping or run in and out being noisy or even bother us for snacks or drinks. They were inconspicuous and borderline polite. It was pleasant.

Lately I’ve been doing a bit of walking down memory lane, reviewing old videotapes I recently found of our boys when they were roughly 4 and 2. The videos tug at my heart. The boys were so cute with their speech impediments, their mischievous grins, and their funny dancing. I watch those videos and feel a bit sad that I didn’t enjoy that time in their lives more. When they were at that age, though, I was exhausted. I was simply too tired to be zen about the whole thing and live in the moment. And, every time a woman stopped me and told me to appreciate this time with my little boys, I wanted to scream, “I’m too tired to appreciate them. I’ll appreciate them later when they’re bigger and I have the energy.”

So, now that they are bigger, I am trying very hard to live with them in the present and pay attention to this time in their lives. After Scott left today, my well-behaved boys and I spent a perfect rainy day afternoon watching Iron Man and Iron Man 2 together, curled up on the couch discussing how much Luke wanted to be Tony Stark. Having the time and energy now to appreciate them has helped me understand that it’s okay that I wasn’t better about relishing the present with them when they were smaller and such a handful. I was doing the best I could at that time. And, I did enjoy them. If I hadn’t found them darling and interesting, if I hadn’t treasured the place they were at, if I hadn’t understood how ephemeral it all was, I wouldn’t have recorded hours upon hours of video of them dancing, celebrating birthdays, taking baths, and playing with Thomas the Tank Engine.

I’ve cherished every phase with my boys. I’m sure in the end I will think they all went by far too quickly. But, for now, I’m not focusing on that. I’m busy being here with my guys. They’re amazing. And me? Well, I’m doing the best I can, and that’s good too.

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All I Know About Art I Learned From DrawSomething

I am no artist, especially not on an iPhone with my fat finger as the artistic implement, but being creative is fun.

At the request of my husband, I downloaded the DrawSomething app, which is kind of like Pictionary for your phone. You’re given a choice of words to draw, each with different possible points to accumulate based on the potential difficulty of the word. For the record, I did not want to download this app because I’ve been banned from playing Pictionary with my family. They believe I become too competitive and then belligerent. Truth is, my mom and I would always end up as partners while my sisters would be partners. My mother is an artistic soul and while she was busy creating a work of art, my sister Julie would get three lines into a stick figure horse, my sister Kathy would guess the clue, and my mother and I would go down in a ball of flames. I hate to lose. I do. But losing to three lines of a stick figure horse while my mother sketches the outline of her equine masterpiece was more than I could bear. Lesson #1: The truly artistic should never play timed drawing games with people who like to win. They should play DrawSomething instead.

Although my spouse (the one who begged me to download the app so we could play) never plays with me, other friends have started games with me and gotten me addicted. Now, I have friends who are infinitely more gifted than I am with artistic skills. Some of them create miniature works of art on their phone or iPad and make it easy for me to guess the answer. Other friends are a bit more like me, and I have to employ my creative mind to guess what in the holy hell they just drew. I suppose the thing that keeps me going when a friend draws a Scotty dog that looks like it’s a black unicorn wearing a ugly sweater is that this is a cooperative game, not a competitive one. I don’t want my friend to think that her drawing was indecipherable, so I work hard to envision her thought process. Sometimes, it’s not easy. Lesson #2: Sometimes art truly is in the eyes of the beholder.

It’s interesting to see the different ways unique individuals try to bring a clue to life. What works for one person in a guessing game does not always work for the next person. One person might choose the term “blizzard” and try to convey a snowstorm. Another person might choose a Dairy Queen treat to convey that same idea. You never know what the person guessing your clue might have in their mental arsenal to help them solve your drawing. You just do the best you can with what you have and leave the rest to interpretation. And in the end, you hope the friend you’re playing with doesn’t start to wonder about you too much when the word you choose to draw is “poop” because you know exactly how to depict an appropriate, steaming pile of doggie do. Lesson #3: Art is subjective. Sometimes a person’s best work of art might be a representation of canine feces, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Some of us are Rembrandts and some of us are Picassos. We can’t all create a flawless work of artistic realism. Some of us look at things a bit differently and put our eyeballs in the wrong spot. I’m glad hubby begged me to download that silly app. It has reminded me how fun it is to draw like I did when I was a kid. Getting back to my inner child has been a trip. I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve saved some of my iPhone artistic creations because I was so proud of them. Now, I just need to figure out how to put them on a virtual fridge using virtual magnets.

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An Unexamined Life Might Be More Fun

Me and Heather acting a bit goofy at the Polar Plunge last year.

My friend Tracy posted this quote: “Don’t take yourself so seriously. Nobody else does.” I’ve heard this before and there hasn’t been a day of my life when it hasn’t applied to me. I was raised by parents who were always asking me to behave a particular way, not to get in the way of anyone or be a bother, and not to (under any circumstances) be an embarrassment to myself or anyone else. When you’re raised with those messages, you become a bit serious about just how important you are in the grand scheme of things.

Truth is, though, everyone is mostly concerned with themselves. At a party, most people are only interested in how they look, what they say, and how they appear to others. And, if we’re all so wrapped up in what’s going on with us, we’re not spending a lot of time paying attention to others. When I think about the people I know who live a life not too serious, I only regard them with admiration. I often wished I was a bit more open to life and joyful, less timid and fearful. Okay. Sometimes maybe I would roll my eyes when my friend did something goofy in public, but I was secretly wishing I could let go once in a while like that.

I’m getting better with this idea. I will probably go to my grave without ever being labeled a free spirit, but I’ve taken the first step. I no longer think anyone is watching me or sizing up my behavior because I understand that most people can’t see past the end of their own nose. I also no longer truly care if they are watching me, scrutinizing my actions, or judging me. Let them look. This is my journey and I’m doing the best with it that I can. Now, if I could just convince myself that I don’t care if I’m acting like a jackass, then I’d really be getting somewhere.

 

 

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