Real Talk

About four years ago a friend and I were discussing our childhood Christmas gifts, and I she challenged me to name 20 gifts I had received as a child. No problem! Or so I thought ... would you believe that I had a hard time getting past naming 10??!! As we discussed childhood and family memories, it became apparent to me that I could not remember many of the toys I had been given, but what I could remember were things we did together. I remember things like vacations, the family reunions, trips to the zoo, spending summers at the pool, or piling in a car to see all the Christmas lights in town ... MEMORIES became what I treasured. This change...

::Sigh:: Where do I even begin? I had to talk to you more than your two siblings combined. I threatened through gritted teeth and commanded you to "Listen!" "Pay attention!" and "Stay with me!" all while you day-dreamed in your La-La Land at the most inopportune times and places. I had to utilize the Daddy-in-church Grab (that tender part of the upper arm) more than my social media pictures would indicate. I exasperatedly exchanged glances with your Daddy when you absentmindedly failed to hear our calls. But you were the first to say thank you. You always are. You thanked us for everything: for bringing you to Disney World, for getting you ice cream, even for the cheap gas station...

I'm sitting down to type this - and the fact that as I do so my keyboard is getting shinier from my Sour Cream and Onion Lays chip-coated fingers doesn't faze me. Nope, those chips are not baked. They're greasy and they taste just like Procrastination. I'm feeling procrastinate-ey. I'm going to open up another bag right now (they're individually sized). AND IF THEY WEREN'T? You'd nod your head in solidarity, Sister. Over the last several weeks, I've been joking about how I'm handling the most public of my issues, our post-flood life. That's sort-of how I tend to handle things - jokes. Inappropriate jokes, mostly. Uncomfortable and inappropriate. Sometimes it doesn't require much imagination because the maybe-I-shouldn't-say-that stuff is really...

I’m not sure that there is a polite way to say this, but I don’t want to talk about my body with you. I understand that we’ve come to a point in our culture that talking about bodies is pervasive and almost expected but still, I have no interest in discussing my body with you. Not when I was a kid or a teen or when I was pregnant or even when I lost weight. There are just so many more interesting things about me.  A Lifetime of Awkward Conversations When I was about 7, I remember someone commenting that I had thick thighs. I was a pretty average-sized kid, but my build was such that as a child and teen,...

Remember when you were a kid and had to do some crafty, themed homework assignment? I vividly remember having to create a sock puppet for my kindergarten graduation ceremony and even a family crest in the fifth grade (both of which turned out terribly because evidently my hatred for crafting goes waaaay back). You know what I don't remember? My mom overseeing each step of the process, helping me make creative decisions, or even completely taking over the assignment for fear that my five-year-old, amateur craftsmanship might reflect poorly on her parenting in some way. Y'all. When did that become a thing? I get it, I do. Elementary schools seem to have a theme-based, cutesy-crafty activity pretty much every week. But...