Victo Dolore’s recent post on sad times in school lunchrooms reminded me of my own like experiences. I was always one of the odd ones out. I remembered my mom’s like tales, too, and a post I’d written remembering those.
I think my mom–aka Thunder Thighs, my favorite superhero–would have loved its ending.
A Victory Most Malodorous
September 10, 2015
Tonight, my older son asked me to tell him “the story about the cat and the dog.”
“Which story?” I asked him. “This isn’t ringing a bell. Could you give me a little more detail to remind me?”
“The one where the dog brings the cat milk.” Read more…
If you’re like me, you can envision hundreds of horrifying outcomes to any situation. This includes mundane things like tying shoelaces, eating a sandwich, or blinking. There are potential disasters in everything! The possibility one of them might occur fills you with dread.
I have a trick for subduing my dread. It might work for you.
I used it today.
I had to meet my manager to discuss a schedule change I’d proposed. The amount I wanted the schedule change was very, very high, which meant my dread engine was running even harder than usual.
Instead of asking “What’s the worst that could happen?” I remembered to ask, “Of all the things that could happen, which are actually likely?”
In many situations, thinking in probabilities is much kinder–to yourself–than thinking in possibilities.
But, hey, it’s good to imagine the possibilities, too! I’ve smiled all day, imagining my manager breakdancing.
I met J through Buffy the Vampire Slayer forums.
Our online friendship became an offline one when she visited Los Angeles my second or third year of law school.
She stayed at my apartment. She didn’t complain when I abandoned her to work as a “goth” extra on Crossing Jordan. She kept herself busy in ways I’ve long since forgotten, and then took pictures of me when I returned. I’d booked another day working as a goth on Alias and was determined to leave in my snazzy ‘do.
Her pictures were beautiful. They captured a me who’d never before existed in the external world.
Y’all know I love making my terrible stick figure drawings.
Only writing a post in my car could keep me from adding stick figures to certain posts. Like yesterday’s, “Bullshit/No bullshit.”
In fifteen minutes, I have illustrated that post with my … crappiest … drawings to date.
It’s common to come across big ol’ piles of B.S. in day to day life. I do this often.
I have typically responded with great care and sensibility. Read more…
There’s a conversation that happens more than any other around my house.
“Mommy, can I have a bubble maker/new game/that toy I just saw on TV?” my four-year-old son, Li’l D, will ask.
“How about now?” he’ll usually ask about two minutes later.
“Asked and answered. You’re not going to get a different answer today.” Sometimes this deters him. Other times, it takes a few more rounds for him to understand there’s no way “no” is going to become “yes.”
Li’l D recently became a fan of Ghostbusters. He became such a fan, actually, that he decided he needed his own costume. My husband set out to make one for each of them.
Dear Li’l D,
Your face is inches from my own as I peck this out with one finger. Your snores are sweet and steady, music of unparalleled beauty to my mama ears.
Today I picked you up early from preschool. You were excited to see me, and even more excited to learn we’d be stopping for ice cream shakes. You saw my smiles, which were real, but didn’t see the also-real tears that preceded them.
I am so excited to meet your little sister or brother sometime in the next couple of weeks. Remembering my awe meeting you, I can’t believe I’ll get the chance to feel such wonder a second time. How can that be right? Even once seemed too precious and rare a thing to be true.
I know it will be wonderful, but I’m scared, too. For four and a half years, you have been my sunshine. You have lit up every part of my life with your compassion, mischievousness, curiosity and forgiveness.
Having known the joy of your particular light, it’s hard to wrap my mind around the idea of having two sunshines. Your auntie Emily says two suns worked for Tatooine, a sentiment that makes me smile. I think it will make you smile someday, too.
Even so, I have grown accustomed to my one beautiful lifelight: you. I know I’ll be overjoyed when that second sun hits my sky. I’ll learn to live with that extra light and not be blinded by it.
But now, right now, I listen to you snore and hopeprayentreat that you know my heart is turned equally toward you even when my eyes and hands are turned toward my second sun. Read more…