A Good Run

*It isn't all about running, Sha.  Promise*

This was one.  There have been others, too.  I remember quite clearly how it felt each time I ran and didn't ever want to stop.  It's easier to remember the good runs when I'm sitting on the couch typing on the laptop than when I'm out in the sweltering heat and suffocating humidity, panting and huffing and cursing at myself in my head for moving like a slug.  At those times, and there have been a lot of them lately, it's hard to remember ever having run before, and hard to imagine why anyone would purposely subject herself to such hardship.

Let me try to explain these feelings for those of you who aren't already silently shouting, "Amen, sister!" Running is hard.  Just because you're wearing athletic clothes and you know you're burning calories doesn't mean you feel thin.  The knowledge that getting your heart to pump faster is a good thing doesn't make it feel good when it seems your chest is going to explode from exertion.  Sweating is totally natural and necessary.  It's also a really grody feeling to have your clothes sticking to you and to have to wipe the salt crust off of your phone's screen after using it because of the sweat that dried on your face.  But then, there are times after a run when you feel like this:

Or like this:

Which is basically, like this:

Much like (I've read) a drug addict continues searching for that feeling they remember from the first time they got high, part of the reason that I (we) continue to run is in search of the overwhelming euphoria of a good run.  The happy news is that good runs are attained more often and in a much healthier, less law-breaking way than heroin highs.

I haven't run many miles, lately, and the miles I have run have not been the most pleasant.  Although I got good news when I talked to a real doctor for a second opinion about my circulation issues, I have been dealing with ever-worsening pain in my left ankle that I think is a tendon thing.  I've had a lot of rest days, hoping to ease the pain and be ready to start marathon training July 6th.  All that rest has made me crabby and flabby and generally unpleasant.  I've remembered, though, one of the cool things about running.  Even the bad runs are at least a little bit good.  Cardiovascular exercise = Good.  Outside in fresh air = Good.  Time alone with thoughts = Good.  So, the running, even with the nagging injuries and reduction in miles and maddening slowness, we'll call it good.  But that isn't the only reason I titled this post the way I did.

I've been at this stay-at-home-mom/homemaker/unemployed worker gig for a little over 2 years now, give or take a few substitute teaching job assignments.  It has definitely been a good run.  I've been able to volunteer at races, at Rip Claw's school, and at our church.  I helped raise a lot of money and put on fun, educational events as a PTA board member.  I'm a regular yoga class attendee.  I have time to write blog posts and follow people on Twitter and keep up with friends on Facebook.  I read books.  I cook healthy(ish), delicious meals.  Sometimes, I even clean.  Best of all, I get to spend almost all their waking hours with my kids.  I feel that I can't overstate how blessed and thankful I am for Charming; for his hard work and commitment to taking care of our family financially.

That's a shadow, not a hole in the top of his head.

Now, the time has come for this good run to end, though.  If I don't get a paying job, then we can't realistically think about moving from our teeny house into a normal-sized one.  If I don't get a well-paying job, then we can't realistically think about moving into my our dream house.

It may seem strange, but a part of me wants to go back to the working world for reasons completely separate from financial gain.  Am I a terrible SAHM for feeling somewhat unfulfilled by my job as a mother?  I treasure my time with the children.  I learn from them, I teach them, I laugh with them, and I know that ultimately, they're going to grow into successful, happy adults largely because of (in spite of?) me.  However, I feel like I have a lot to offer aside from being a parent.  I also feel like the value of what I have to offer the world at large is depreciating the longer I stay at home.  Sometimes, it's hard to see the difference between enjoying a good run and enjoying the comfort of a familiar rut.  I realized that I'm in the latter position when I noticed a trend in the jobs I was hoping to get.  The one thing they all had in common was me, at home.  Hard work pays off.  Smart work pays off.  Laziness does not pay off.  Great ideas, without action, do not pay off.  Yes, there are people who get paid to write blog posts about running and mothering and such.  There are people who get paid to read and review books.  There are even people who get paid to come up with ideas far less excellent than ideas I've had.  I've come to terms with the fact that I am not one of those people.  It would basically be the same thing if I said my dream job was to play the lottery.  So, yeah.  My dream job is to change the world, be intellectually challenged and stimulated, earn enough money to move to a house with more than one bathroom, and still spend almost every waking moment with my children.  But until there's an opening in that field, I'll probably return to where I had my last good run--tending bar.


Wanna hire me?

Your last good run? 

The Bliss of Being Selfish

I love the word 'selfish'- don't you?  For one thing, words with the -ish suffix are usually cool with me.  Plus, if you're really angry, like, spitting mad, and yell at someone for being selfish, it often comes out as 'shellfish' instead.  That's always funny.  Also, when you say it over and over in your head, the 'fish' part of the word stands out.  Then you can imagine yourself as a beautiful, colorful, terribly vain and self-centered fish.  The self fish.

Turns out, there was already a name for the self fish.  Betta fish are very keen on themselves. Thank you, Google!

There.  Now that we've had a proper digression, you know you're on the right blog.

Everyone in my fishbowl world just celebrated Mother's Day; my third-no, fourth-fifth!-favorite holiday.  (It's cool that we live in a country where we celebrate so much that people can have fifth favorite holidays, huh?) I was the substitute teacher for a 3rd grade class the Friday before Mother's Day, which meant that I was to help the kids work on gifts for their moms.  They were tasked with writing a few sentences from the prompt: "My Mom is my hero because..." Walking around the classroom and trying to keep all the students engaged, I noticed some trends.  Moms are nice.  Moms take care of their kids.  Moms are helpful.  I started asking the kids to think a little deeper.  "Does your mom have another job beside being your mom?"  "Yeah, she's a probation officer.  She has a gun that she never lets me see."  "So, your mom must be pretty tough and brave, then."  "Yeaaaahhh...Yeah.  Yeah!  She is tough!"  "How about your mom?  What is she good at?" "Um.  Cooking.  And, um.............She's not good at cartwheels."  "Ok.  Moving on. I see you wrote that your mom plays with you.  What do you guys play together?" "Well, she helps me practice baseball.  But really, it's just me practicing and her playing.  She's not even on a baseball team, and I am." "Does your mom work while you're at school?"  "Oh. Um. Yeah. She's a nurse."  "My mom is a doctor!" "My mom throws the best birthday parties!" "My mom is bad at cartwheels, too!" "My mom gave birth to me!" "My mom potty trained me!"

Available on Amazon. Yes, for real.

The thing is, it was pretty difficult for the kids to think of anything unique or special about their moms.  Later, I asked Rip Claw how he would have answered some questions about me.  "Can you think of anything about me that is different from other moms?" Long think break. "No."  Sigh.  "Do you know what I like to do?"  "Um.......no.  Wait! Yes. You like to use the computer." Siiiiiggggghhhhh.  "What about running?  Have you ever seen me run?  Read books?  Play with you and Cupcake?  Go to the park?  Do I ever make you laugh?  How about our conversations?  Our bike rides?  I like to play games.  I like to go to the beach.  I like to do crafts."  He seemed surprised, but more than that, he seemed totally disinterested.  I'm pretty sure I was about 10 years old before I ever noticed that my mom did anything other than take care of me and my siblings, so I guess I shouldn't be too upset with my 7-year-old for still thinking of himself before me.

Which led me to thinking of this post.  (We always come back around to the point eventually.)

The fact of the matter is simple: Mom is a title, not a description.  Women who have children were women way before the children came along.  Obviously, kids are going to take a while to get to the realization that their moms are actually people with thoughts and needs and wants.  Rip Claw seems genuinely shocked when I say things like, "I was so bored." or "I'm so excited about going to this concert.  (Most) moms are, in a word, selfless.  That's what their children see, and that's about all they see.  Their moms give of themselves pretty much every minute that the kids are awake.  Even for a kid as thoughtful and sweet as my son, it's difficult to see past that selflessness and realize that there is sacrifice taking place.

I'm friends with some very smart women.  We have college degrees, insight, experience, and wit.  We're driven, successful, happy, and, yes, selfless.  Well, most of the time, anyway.  We've learned that we are all better when we take some time to be selfish.  By 'better' I mean in every way.  We're better moms, better wives, better at our jobs, better at being happy.  We even look better!  Almost 5 years ago, we started talking about planning a weekend away, just us girls.  After 10 or so months of emails, travel site visiting, and conversations with our husbands preparing them for what was going to happen, the Girls' Weekend tradition was born.

I'm pretty sure moms invented the "selfie" in order to get out from behind the camera once in a while. 

Our destination qualifications are pretty simple.  We want a pool.  We want a quiet room with a full kitchen.  We don't want to have to drive very far.  We want flat surfaces on which to lie down whenever we feel so inclined (or should I say, reclined).  Last year, we found a pretty perfect spot, about an hour's drive away, but the weather was horrible.  Totally hurricaneish.  We had to stay in the room watching movies, catching up on our magazine reading, and napping for many hours.  This year, we decided to go back to the same place, and were blessed with postcard-perfect weather the entire time.

We shopped for groceries beforehand, and we each brought a typical mom amount (1-3 grocery bags full) of snacks to share.  I ate every meal on our 10th floor balcony, looking out at this view.  We spent hours in the sunshine, switching between the private beach, one of many pools on the property, and the lazy river.  We went for quiet runs in the mornings after not setting an alarm or having a child crawl into bed to wake us.  Well, some of us did.

One of our number was forced to spend her time on crutches or a wheeled knee cart.  Great conversation starter, at least!

We missed our kids.  We missed our husbands.  It's always hard, being away from our families, even though it's only for a few days.  Rip Claw was very upset before I left.  When he asked me why I would even want to go somewhere without them, though, I had what I think is a pretty good answer.  "Well, son, the job of a parent is never, never done.  You know how I'm here all the time?  I get your breakfast, pack your lunch, make your dinner, help you with your homework, wash your clothes, and give you back tickles.  I wake up if you or Cupcake cries in the middle of the night.  I bring you to football practice and teach you new things and play with you and make sure you're behaving and growing up well.  I notice if your neck is dirty or your socks are stinky.  I find your shoes.  And you know what else?  Even when you're not around, or the house is clean or the laundry is done and I'm just sitting on the computer, I am ALWAYS worrying about, thinking of, and planning to make sure you and your sister are safe and happy.  I don't get weekends off from being your mom.  I don't even get hours off.  You know how much I love you, and I am so happy that I get to be your mom, but that doesn't mean I don't need a break sometimes.  It's like when you try to figure out a difficult problem.  Sometimes, if you give your brain a break from thinking about it, even just for a few minutes, you come back refreshed and with a new view, and that helps."  Okay, so that probably isn't the exact, word-for-word transcription of what I said, but it's pretty close.  He seemed to get it.  I was worried that he would still think that I wanted a break from him, but he didn't ask again about my reasons for wanting to go.  I told him that we would be having fun, relaxing, and having lots of naps, which he seemed okay with.

I spent about 20 minutes staring at the darkened elevator shaft, watching the bright cars zoom up and down, only to be bathed in darkness again as soon as the passengers stepped out.  It was oddly beautiful.

Less odd, more beautiful.  Midway through my beach run, I sat on a chunk of coquina like this and had myself a long Think and Stare at Water break.  Utterly blissful.

Every time I would settle in on a sunny lounge chair and take a deep breath of the fresh, salty air, I got a little choked up.  I felt such overwhelming appreciation and love for Charming, for our kids, for our lives, for the fact that despite all my imperfections and shortfalls, I have a husband who loves me and takes care of things so that I can lay in the sun and relax without worries for a few days.  It was absolutely marvelous.

I hope it's obvious that I would love and appreciate my Charming and my children even if I didn't get away from them for 52 hours a year; of course I would.  But I also think it's obvious that selflessness needs to take a holiday sometimes, and the colorful, unique, fun, exhausted person inside the Mom needs to be let loose to stare at elevators, dance, sit on rocks, try whiskey, keep the balcony doors open without concern about losing a toddler, finish a book, zoom down a water slide, paint her toenails, put on lipstick, sleep late, talk about Athleta's clothes for hours, laugh until we cry, and take a post-dinner nap.

If you don't believe me about the benefits of temporary selfishness, ask any one of these brilliant ladies.

What is your favorite way to spend your "me" time?

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

Do you ever wonder why nursery rhymes are practically eternal?  I do.  I ponder things like this a lot, actually.  I'm almost always in the thinking box shower, and I'll start thinking about "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep" or whatever, and begin analyzing it like I'm going to have to write a report.
Who is saying 'baa baa'?  Is it the sheep?  Or is the sheep saying 'yes sir, yes sir'?  Is the sheep's name BaaBaa?  Maybe shepherds used to baa at their sheep to get them to give them wool.  I always thought black sheep were bad.  Maybe black sheep got a bad reputation because they never gave enough wool.  Are there even black sheep?  Well, there are albino humans, and albino rats, and albino dolphins, so maybe black sheep are like that.  Or maybe black sheep are dirty.  I wonder who wrote this rhyme.  Probably nobody did.  Probably someone said it to their daughter, and then she changed it a little to repeat to her kids, and it got changed over and over until someone wrote it down the way that their mom taught it to them, like the way my mom's Pat-a-cake version is different from the others, and then they got credit for it.  Is there a lesson in every nursery rhyme?  Like, even if you're dirty and rejected by your flock, you can still be a productive member of society?  Who is this 'little boy who lives down the lane' anyway?  Was the black sheep being charitable? 

But that's not what this is about.  This is about little girls, and society, and how disturbing it is that sex appeal is a marketing tool for selling things to children.

Oddly enough, it was an article in Allure magazine from October 2013 that made me-- you're not going to believe this-- think.  It was the only magazine in the exam room when I went for a check-up at the doctor a few weeks ago.  I usually wouldn't pick up a magazine like that, because all the beauty and celebrity worship is annoying, but you know how it is when you're waiting in a tiny, cold room without your Kindle.

The article was written by a mom, about dressing her 7 y.o. daughter for school.  The mom had painstakingly selected the daughter's wardrobe for all 7 years of her life, until one day, the daughter asked to choose her own clothes.  Dunh dunh dunh!  The mom was sleepless with anxiety over what her kid might decide to wear to school, and had discussions with her child about the importance of a sense of style and blah blah blah blarf blarf.  Spoiler alert!  The kid had good taste in clothes, and all was well down in Allure Author Alley.  I told Charming about the article that evening, and he readily shared my annoyance. My point was simple:  I've gone my entire life without a sense of style, and I turned out just fine.  I have never lost sleep over clothes!  The thought of placing so much value in material things (har har) is just mind-blowing to me.

There is a 'but' to this story, though.  The article's author talked a lot about how clothes for girls are so very much the same: Pink.  Purple.  Sparkly.  Princess-y.  It was important to her that her daughter find her own individuality, and not buy/wear just the things that every other little girl wears.  She chose to demonstrate the importance of individuality by taking her daughter to a vintage jewelry store and letting her select a brooch within her $13 budget.  I chose to lecture my 2 y.o. under my breath in Toys 'R' Us.  "No princesses.  You don't want to be a princess.  Smart is better than pretty, anyway.  Does this toy even teach you anything?  No.  It just sings about bows.  You know, in real life, not all princesses are pretty and sweet."  When it comes to clothing and toys designed for and marketed to girls, there are two adjectives that come immediately to mind:  Pink.  Alike.

You may have heard the stories about young girls recently protesting to big companies about gender stereotypes.  There's the teenager who convinced McDonald's to stop offering "girl" or "boy" toys, and the 7 y.o. who wrote to Lego about how lame the girl toys are.  I'm no activist.  I'm not even sure I know how to contact my Congressmanorwoman.  I can't say I don't care about women's rights or gender equality, because I do care.  I just never really considered doing anything about the problems until having a daughter of my own.

When 2-yr-old Cupcake looks at pictures like this, of her 8-day-old self, she squeals and says, "Aw!  Baby!  Cute!  Hugs!" and then tries desperately to hug the picture/computer screen/photo book.

For a couple of years, Rip Claw's favorite color was pink.  Not surprisingly, other kids eventually started questioning his choice.  When he asked me whether it was okay for boys to like pink, I said, "Of course it is.  Colors are colors.  They aren't for just boys or girls."  Eventually, pink moved down his list of favorites to second, then third, and now it's pretty far down the list, but I think it was a natural progression of changing preferences rather than peer pressure making him move green up and pink down.  Cupcake loves babies, and bunnies, and butterflies, and Minnie Mouse.  She also loves playing with Rip Claw's cars, putting stickers everywhere she can think of, throwing and catching any ball or object which looks like it may or may not be a ball, fweeping, fwimming, and fwinging (sweeping, swimming, and swinging).  "Look, Mommy!  Fwings!  I'll try it!"  She is particular about her clothes, and has been since before she turned one.  She likes when I fix her hair "pretty" so she 1. doesn't have her bangs in her eyes, 2. can "Show Daddy see mirror?" and 3. might get to see the "Picture?  See girl picture?"  She loves to sing, but her favorite song is not about bows, it's "Happy Birthday" with "Driving my Car" (her version pictured below) coming in a close second.

Don't ask me for the link to the song she's singing.  You'll be sorry if you do.

My point, which might be muddled by all the cute pictures and anecdotes, is simple.  I'm really sick of feeling forced to like/buy specific things for my girl and my boy.  I want options, and I want my kids to know that they have options.  Rip Claw doesn't have to look for toys in the "boy" section, and Cupcake shouldn't have to look just in the "girl" section.  Which brings me to another point, that "girl" stuff is. so. awful.  I mean, it's awful from a logical, realistic perspective, obviously.  It's cute stuff.  I remember loving the sound of dress-up plastic high-heeled princess shoes on the terrazzo floors of my childhood home, and I'm sure Cupcake would love it, too.  But why do we as a society think that we can tell our girls all their lives that they can be a Cheerleader- Popular! or a Princess- Pretty! or a Mom/Cleaning Lady- Look at how well this pooping, crying doll prepares you for real life!  Have a pink, practice vacuum cleaner! and then expect them to do well in science and math and go on to solve the world's problems?

I'm not the type to go looking for scapegoats, or to yell and shake my fist about Society!!! and expect things to change.  But give this a think, please.  Airplanes and cars are "boy" toys.  Only ~ 5% of pilots are females, and we all know how terrible I am women are at driving.  Female drivers are involved in over 68% of crashes and only, like 4 of those involved yours truly.  Boys are encouraged to build, perform experiments, save helpless girls, and fight for any or no reason with or without weapons.  Girls are encouraged to wear pink, look cute, get a boy, and rock out while wearing various hairpieces and tiny clothes.  Girls' creative toys are used to make jewelry or make-up.  Boys' creative toys are used to make other, useful, fun toys.  I can't be the only one who thinks this is a big problem.

Oh, and remember up there where I said this post was about sex appeal being used as a marketing tool?  Yeah.  Check out these then and now pictures of Strawberry Shortcake.

That isn't even the worst of it!  Have you seen these impossibly beautiful, completely unrealistically thin, large-breasted dolls that our girls are supposed to be able to dress for every situation?  I think they're called Barbara...no Barbie dolls.  What is this world coming to?

It's been happening for many years.  It's getting worse.  If we want anything to change, then we have to start doing things differently.  Don't buy anything pink or blue, ever.  Okay, maybe that's a bit too extreme.  If your son loves cars and construction trucks and making volcanoes, great!  But if he wants to make rubber band jewelry, play house in the kiddie kitchen, read Beverly Cleary's books about Ramona and Beezus, and watch "Cinderella," please support him in the same way.  There's nothing wrong with looking pretty, and there's nothing wrong with wanting your daughter to look pretty.  There is a problem when pretty trumps all, or anything else.  It isn't my place to tell you what toys or clothes to buy for your kids, but I would ask that you be aware of the advertisements, especially when they send the clear message that looks/sex appeal are so important, and why you're buying what you buy.  I, for one, don't want my daughter to dream of being a princess in a shining castle.  I want her to dream of ways she can change the world, and I want her to know that she doesn't need a Ken or a Kristoff (I'm telling you, I've been watching a lot of "Frozen" lately) or a unique fashion sense in order to fulfill her potential.  Girls can be rock stars without getting naked in public (seriously, Taylor Momsen) and girls can be pilots, architects, or builders while remaining sugary and nice.

If you decide not to buy a particular product because it reinforces restrictive gender stereotypes or is marketed in a way that you think is inappropriate, I hope you'll consider letting the manufacturer know why you chose to spend your money elsewhere.  With Twitter and Facebook, it's really easy to make your voice heard.  Plus, you can almost always find an email address on a company's website.  Send a short message saying, "I thought you should know that I decided not to buy xxxx for my daughter because I disagree with the limiting gender stereotype this product promotes.  I would like to see more products from your company that can be enjoyed by, and are marketed to, all children."  Or whatever.



What was your favorite childhood toy?

If I make up a nursery rhyme, can I count on you to repeat it to your kids and grandkids until it goes on until the end of time?

War. Huunh. What Is It Good For?

Perhaps the most useful advice I have ever offered is going to be in this post.  Brace yourselves, boys and girls, this is a goody.

You don't need to fight.  Be patient.  Think about your words.  Let go of your anger.  With few exceptions (which I will share in just a moment), I am a stellar example of peace and calm, so you can trust my experience with this.

First, the exceptions to my lover-not-a-fighter-ness.

• The Wet Willie-  You know it.  Someone disgusting, immature, and usually male licks his finger and sticks it in your ear when your back is turned.  Spit= Gross.  Surprises in your ear= Gross.  The word 'earworm' makes me shudder.  For real, I just shuddered when I typed it.  The phrase, "I just want to put a bug in your ear about this" makes me want to barf.  I worked with a guy years ago who thought it was hilarious to give me wet willies at every opportunity.  After the first couple of times, I realized he thought I was just regular grossed out by it, so I took him aside and very calmly informed him that if he ever did it again, I would punch him in the face.  About a week later, at our company Christmas party, he licked his filthy finger with his putrescent tongue and shoved it in my ear.  I turned around and punched him in the face.  My only regret is that I didn't hit him harder.  He didn't speak to me much after that, but he also stopped the wet willieing.  Violence was the answer.

I'm not ruling out the possibility that "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan" made me disturbingly phobic about things in my ears. 

• The Drunk Friend-  Sometimes, it is possible to reason patiently with a wasted friend trying to drive home.  Sometimes, it isn't, and you have to take the car keys.  Sometimes, when you take the car keys, it makes the drunk friend angry.  When the drunk friend is angry, she might try to knock you down and wrestle the keys out of your hand.  On such occasions, it is then acceptable to fight back.  In my experience, the alcohol will numb the minor physical pain inflicted by (me) the sober friend, and by the next morning, only the hungover friend's pride will hurt.
• The Deserved-It-  I was out with a guy I was dating.  He said something that I'm not going to share here, and I knocked him out of his chair and onto his back.  Trust me, he deserved it.  I was much younger then, and hadn't quite mastered the skills I'm about to describe, but even now, when I think about his words and my reaction, I know that I did the right thing.  
• The Big Liar-  The year was 2004.  I was about to graduate from the University of Central Florida with my B.A. in Psychology.  It should go without saying that I had worked hard, for years, to obtain my degree.  A couple of other people at the restaurant where I worked were also graduating from college, and our manager was kind enough to buy us cards and congratulatory gifts.  The Big Liar asked where her gift was.  She claimed she was also graduating from UCF, earning a Civil Engineering degree.  My goodness.  I could write an entire post, just on this one story.  Short version is that she was lying, and it made me furious.  I didn't punch her or knock her down, physically, but I used my words to make sure everyone knew she was a big effing liar, and to make her sorry for her idiocy.  It's possible that I gave her nightmares.  I do kind-of regret a few of the mean things I said to her.  I'm sure her pathology ran deep and she had little control over her stupid, ridiculous lies, and I could have handled the situation better.
• The Justifiably Annoyed- There are certainly times that I'm irritated by other drivers' actions, but I'm not a road rager, yeller, or even a horn honker.  Cupcake made me laugh a couple of times recently when we were in the car, and made me glad that I am careful with my words, even when I get cut off in traffic.  Each time I brake suddenly or sharply, she gets this (familiar) annoyed tone and says, "Really?  Really?  Uggghhh."  Could be so much worse!

While we're on that subject, here's another super cute thing our little Cupcake did recently to make me laugh:  As I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, she was playing in her little kitchen, banging around her mini pots and pans, making tea, etc.  She came up and handed me this

with the words, "Here guys.  Dinner time."

Anyway... Now that I've confessed, let's move on.  I feel that I am really quite good at conflict resolution, and many people I know are not, so it seems important that I give a little how-to.  When someone does or says something that makes you angry, you should follow these steps in order to calmly and peacefully manage the situation.

• Step 1- Stop.  Emphasis on stop.  Seriously.  STOP.  Don't say anything, don't do anything.  Except breathe, of course.  Actually, breathe deeply.
• Step 2- Think.  Think about what the other person is thinking.  No, don't say aloud, "What are you thinking?!?!?"  Think about whether or not the other person is actually an idiot.  I'm so serious about that.  If the answer is yes, your next step is different than if the answer is no.  
• Step 3 (Yes, idiot)- Be the bigger person.  You don't need to prove how smart you are, or how angry you are, or how stupid the other person is.  Solve the problem if you can, if not, move on with your life.
• Step 3 (No, not an idiot)-  Continue thinking.  Think about something the other person did that showed how smart, sensitive, cool, nice, non-idiotic he/she is.  Think about why that person is in your life.  Think about how you will wish you had handled the situation when you look back on it.  Think about your own flaws, as a reminder that nobody is perfect.  Force yourself to think about something else, for a while, and then think fresh, new thoughts.  Think about what you would want the other person to say to you, if your roles were reversed and you were the upset-er instead of the upset-ee.  This step may take a while.  Sometimes, it takes hours.  Also helpful during this step is to do some exercise.  Running helps me to think, but so does practicing yoga.  
• Step 4- Talk to the person who made you angry.  Sometimes, it will be tempting after all those calming thoughts to skip straight to step 5, but in the long run, you'll be happy you addressed the issue.  Even if you're no longer seeing red, it will be beneficial for you to get all your thoughts out in the open, and it will help the other person to realize, recognize, or defend their words or actions that upset you.
• Step 5- Let it go.  Come on, did you really think that wasn't going to be one of the steps?  I have never found pleasure, happiness, joy, or peace in stewing over a wrong that's been done.  Once you've explored the problem thoughtfully, and addressed it with the offender, drop it.  Think about it this way:  After I punched the wet willier, and he stopped delivering wet willies, would there have been any benefit if I had punched his face every time I saw him?  No.  Probably by the second time, and definitely by the third time I punched him, he would have hit me back.  I had gotten my point across to him, solved the problem, and if I hadn't then let it go, I likely would have gotten fist willied in my ear.

A couple of years ago, Charming and I were having trouble dealing with Rip Claw's tantrums.  He was 4 years old, and he would go off like a complete and utter maniac sometimes, usually when Charming wasn't around.  Something small would upset him, and he would react badly.  I would dole out a punishment, or yell at him for his bad behavior, and then it would spiral downward until he was screaming and flailing and hitting.  Not good.  

A day or so after one particularly bad episode, I sat him down and talked to him about why he thought he would get so out of control when he was upset.  His words struck me like an Ice Queen's magical icicle to the heart (sorry, just watched "Frozen").  

"I'm not mad at first, but then when you get mad at me, I have to get mad back at you.  It's like you want me to be more mad than you.  So I try to show you that I'm the maddest one."

Oof.  I think what he was trying to articulate, in his late toddler-hood way, was the truth that anger breeds anger.  Yelling leads to more yelling, not less.  Since that conversation, I've made a conscious effort to be calm, even when he or his sister is making me feel absolutely crazy.  It has definitely worked.  He hasn't had a maniac tantrum in over two years.  

So, there you go.  You're welcome.  Feel free to share with the United Nations and/or any warmongers you happen to know.

Ever been in a fight?  Regret it?

Living The Life

Hm.  Haven't done an a.k.a. for a while!

Alternate post title: If I Had A Billion Dollars...

It has been hard to avoid hearing about the billion dollar bracket challenge that started recently, so I'll assume that you already know about it, or have clicked on the link I provided just there.  I entered, and lost almost immediately.  However, it is also hard to keep from thinking thoughts that start with, "but if I did win a billion dollars..." even now, that my chance of winning has been reduced from 1/920,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (That might be too many zeros.  It might be too few.  I know I'm tired of typing them, is all.) to zero.  Rip Claw knew about the challenge, and helped me make my picks.  The day after my bracket was submitted, I saw this article about Patriot's Quarterback Tom Brady and his wife, model Gisele Bundchen, putting their home on the market for $50 million.  Rip Claw has lately been thoroughly obsessed with football, so I called him over to look at the pictures with me of Tom Brady's house.  It is jaw-dropping.  Beautiful.  Magnificent.  Eco-friendly!  Enormous.  Palatial.  And, nauseating.  

I hope that's a secret passageway above all the shoes.  Otherwise, I don't want it.

I told Rip Claw that, sure, we could buy Tom Brady's house if we won the billion.  He understood, though, that we weren't going to win it, so he quickly informed Charming that it was time for him to start playing in the NFL.  I guess he thought that our telling him that Daddy didn't play tackle football because it was too dangerous meant that Daddy's fear was the only thing holding him back from an NFL career.  Awwww, right?

Later, once we had explained the statistical improbability of Charming going from his desk job in the communication industry, and taking his English degree to the gridiron to start making millions of dollars, Rip Claw asked me about other ways we could afford to buy Tom Brady's house.  

RC: "Well, what other jobs make a lot of money?"

Me: "Other than professional athletes?  People who make smart business decisions usually make a lot of money.  People who invent things, people who make things that almost everyone needs or uses every day, they have enough money to buy Tom Brady's house."

RC: "Ooh!  What can I invent that nobody else has thought of?"

Me: "Um.  If I knew that, I probably would have already invented it.  The point is to think of something that nobody else has thought of or been able to make before.  Like, the guy who started Facebook.  He has way more money than any football player."

RC: "Hm.  Are you sure that Dad won't play football?"

Me:  "Yup.  You know, Tom Brady's wife also has a lot of money.  Her job is to be a model."

RC: "What's a model?"

Me: "A model is someone who wears clothes for pictures or shows in order to make people want to buy the clothes."

RC: "What?!  So, she just gets paid to wear clothes?  How did she get to be a model?"

Me: "Models are usually very good looking.  They make people think that they'll also look good in the clothes they're modeling, so the companies that made the clothes get a lot of money from people buying their products."

RC: "Why don't you be a model?"

My first thought at this point in the conversation was to use the following visual aid:

Your mom, modeling her clothes. "Look how many shades of pink I can wear at once!"

Yeaaahhh.... That just ain't me.

Me: "You have to be really good looking to be a model.  They're pretty much all a lot taller than me, a lot skinnier, and they don't eat nearly so many chips as I do.  Plus, I never really wanted to be a model."

RC: "You're really pretty!  Sometimes you even smell pretty!"

Me, thinking: "Coincidence that the times I smell pretty I am wearing Victoria's Secret Halo perfume and Gisele is a Victoria's Secret model?"

Me: "Thanks, son!  But really.  I don't want to be a model."

RC: "Can boys be models?"

Me: "Oh, yeah.  There are lots of boy models.  You're definitely good looking enough to be one, too, but that's not really something Daddy and I want for you.  We like to focus more on your character and your actions and teaching you to be honest, kind, friendly, generous, and, you know, to make good choices."

RC: "Yeah.  You want me to do the right things and not worry about how I look."
Me: "Exactly!"
RC: "So, why do you think they're selling that house, anyway?"
Me: "It's hard to say.  Maybe they want a bigger house.  Maybe they want to live somewhere other than California.  Maybe they want a smaller house!"
RC: "OOH!  Like our house?  Do you think they want to trade houses with us?
Me: "It's possible.  About as likely as us winning the billion dollars

Why wouldn't they want to trade?  

Because of all the talk about becoming billionaires, I came to a few conclusions about riches.

• You know how they say money can't buy happiness?  I believe it.  Not to say that the Brady-Bundchens aren't happy because they have so much money, but I cannot imagine that they're happier than my family.  
• The next bullet point is going to sound like a lie.  It's not.
• ~$2 million would go toward buying a few nice houses in a few nice locations.  ~$1 million would go toward traveling, with the family.  We might have to do it all on land and sea, though, as Charming hates to fly.  I would hire a financial planner and make some investments.  Charming and I would play in the World Series of Poker.  Then, I would donate the rest to causes I feel are important.  

I think that the best part of having a lot of money would be the ability to give a lot of money away.  I would love to have a house with a spiral staircase and more than one bathroom, but I don't need 14,000 square feet, a crystal chandelier in my closet, or pictures of my home in Architectural Digest.  My favorite wine costs $10/bottle.  I mean, I'm sure there are better wines out there.  Otherwise, why would Sommelier be a job? But I just can't see myself suddenly finding a gaping hole in my life that only fine wine or expensive shoes or extra cars could fill.  You know where I do find myself lacking?  I'm lazy about housework.  I waste time on social media sites and on playing games I will never win (which you should totally start playing right now, by the by).  I certainly wouldn't become a better person by having the money to pay people to clean and organize my house(s).  I don't need extra time until I learn to discipline myself to use the free time I do have in wise ways.  If I could buy a migraine cure or the ability to never procrastinate, show up late, or snap at my kids, I might spend more millions.

The bottom line is that I really, truly can't see how anyone with gobs of money can possibly justify spending it on themselves.  Now, I do realize that my buying a couple million dollars worth of houses and spending so much on travel and poker qualifies as spending gobs on myself.  However, I feel I'm being realistic.  It would be thrilling to not ever have to worry about having enough money, to live comfortably, and to not worry about a job schedule, retirement, or my family's well-being.  I would love to be able to go with Charming and the kids to see different places and experience different cultures all around the world.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow mindedness,

and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts..."

                                                    -Mark Twain

I also feel I'm being realistic about how much money I would share.  Enough to make a difference, that's for sure.  I'm not the smartest brick in the tower (or however the saying goes) but I can give money away to worthy causes like nobody's biz.  I have no desire to go to fancy parties with other rich people, I have fun friends already.  I couldn't care less about fashion designers or expensive clothing/shoes/accessories.  It's the poor people, the sick people, and the parents from my son's school who are unable to afford $50/year for their kids to join a running group that make my heart hurt.  Come to think of it, I got the same sick feeling from looking at all those scholarship applications as I did when I looked at the pictures of Gisele's closet.

For once, I'll let you solicit advice.  I shouldn't tell others what to do with their money...unless they ask.  Just remember this: "rich" is totally subjective.

What I'm Reading, Hearing, Watching, and Doing

Reading:
My reading list, as usual, is as exciting as it is excessive.  I actually only spend about 20 minutes reading each day, so the fact that I'm carrying around and placing by the bedside all these books is pretty ridiculous.  But if loving so many books is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

I haven't actually started the newest addition to the culinary mystery series I love, but it's a library book, so I have to start and finish it quickly.  I'm almost finished with "The Gifts of Imperfection" (it's my nighttime book) and I'm about halfway through "The Shining" (one of two daytime books).  I purchased the sequel, "Doctor Sleep", as my pages-in-waiting.  The author of the book on my kindle is an old family friend, Darin Michael Shaw.  I believe "Chronicles of War" is his first novel, but his second published work.  I selected the giant book about the Vanderbilt ladies for my book group.  It was one of the more interesting-seeming titles that came up when I googled "books to make you smarter."  So far, I don't feel much smarter, though.  It seems to me that the Vanderbilt family was like a much earlier version of the Kardashian family.  I find myself disapproving of their long-ago extravagant parties and constant building of expensive houses, and not necessarily on principle.  I feel that they're a big part of the reason today's society is so celebrity-gaga and so shallow, as a whole.  Unfair?  That remains to be seen.

Hearing:
From Rip Claw: "Do we have any fun plans for today/tomorrow/the weekend?"  I don't know how or exactly when his obsession with "fun plans" started, but he was literally asking me that question every.single.day.  I figure there isn't anything wrong with wanting to know our plans, or with wanting them to be fun.  I was really tired of hearing the question, though, so I came up with this:

On the chalkboard painted portion of his bedroom wall.

In typical mom fashion, I included chores and additional school work (I give him advanced math problems, reading or writing assignments when we play school) in the fun.  Muah hah hah!

From Cupcake: "NO LIKE IT!" It's a rather long story, and not all that interesting, so I'll sum up: she has to drink some different kind of non-dairy milk that she isn't used to drinking.  We've tried soy, vanilla flavored almond, coconut, and lactaid milks.  Finally, after several days of bribing, cheering, rewarding, bargaining, begging, and attempting to disguise the flavors, she drank some soy milk without throwing her cup and yelling that dreaded phrase.  In addition to being a picky drinker, she is becoming a very finicky eater.  Perfect, considering she's off-the-chart small and her pediatrician probably thinks we're trying to cultivate an early eating disorder. ("Mom, what's it called when people say the opposite of something to try to be funny?" Sarcasm, son.  You'll hear a lot of it in our family.) It's hard to get her to eat enough protein and fat, so I'm very much okay with her love of hummus, guacamole, and peanut butter.

Ignore the messy counter top in the background and focus on the fact that she was licking fresh, homemade guacamole from her fingers.

Watching:
Okay, I'll be honest.  I wrote the title and the first half of this post about 9 hours ago, and now I can't remember what I was going to share about this subject.  You know how frustrating it is when you lose your train of thought mid-sentence?  This is like that, only a little worse.  I've been sitting at the computer for 40 minutes now, asking myself repeatedly, "What am I watching?"  I keep coming up with a few things that I know weren't IT, but will have to do.

• Parenthood- It's a show about 4 grown siblings and their own families.  Charming and I are getting thoroughly spoiled by watching it on Netflix, because we're still not caught up to the current season and can therefore watch 3 episodes a night when we are awake enough.  I dare you to watch and not find yourself relating to at least one of the main characters.
• Progress.  Charming is well on his way to his first ever half-marathon race!  His dedication to the training program and the ease with which he seems to achieve greater and greater things are just so thrilling to watch.  He'll be running the Swamp House Half Marathon in March.  You should, too.
• Potential paydays.  I am officially an approved substitute teacher for our county's schools.  Some of you may know this already, but many of you probably missed the blog post about it that I deleted a couple of days after publishing it.  (Curious, now, are you?  Let me know in the comments if you want to read the gory details and I'll see what I can do to satisfy.)  Now that I'm an employee, but not actually working, I'm spending time each day watching for jobs to open up.  
• Pigging out.  The 2 weeks of clean eating made me aware of my awful piggish habits.  I've been watching my junk food and overall calorie intake, these days, and I've only gorged myself a couple of times.  

Doing:
Really running!  I was surprised by how long after my tibial stress fracture I was running tentatively.  Like a slow, scaredy baby.  Also surprising was how long the mild soft tissue pain can last.  After long or fast runs, I still see swelling around the spot that was fractured, and the muscles in my calf and shin on that leg are much more tender than those on the other leg.  Apparently, though, this type of pain is not unusual for up to a year after an injury like the one I had.  I've been building my weekly mileage back up, and I've had some very successful long runs that have left me feeling like a real runner again.

Really cleaning!  Long ago, I made myself a cleaning schedule that looked so good on paper.  Well, it's actually on Google Calendar, but you know what I mean.  Turns out, following the schedule makes my house look good, too!  I (almost) always regret procrastination; I hate that I put off the tasks that I know I need to accomplish.  I decided recently that I would really, truly, not-just-saying-so, try to procrastinate less and try not to waste so much of my free time on nonsense.  It's a hard thing to do, to be productive, but it really is worthwhile.  What a wonderful feeling of relief comes when the laundry baskets, washer and dryer are all empty!


What advice should you take away from this post?  Read the books I'm reading.  Turn the tables on your kids when you hear things from them that are annoying.  Remember the information you want to convey.  Running is fun, even when it's scary.  Finally, go do--whatever--now!  Don't wait.



Best way to break a bad habit?

Best way to remember your own ideas?

Connect The Dots

The dots, in this case, are the random bits of information to follow.  Yes, I could have written several mini posts, but I think you know by now that I will almost always choose long-winded over short.

• For the second year in a row, my team made the playoffs in our Keeper($) Fantasy Football League.  Although my dependence on the Tom Brady/Rob Gronkowski combo seemed like it was going to destroy me earlier in the season (thanks a load for those 9 points in week 7, Touchdown Tommy), they pulled together when the time came and got me the wins I desperately needed.  This team is the one (of three) with which I most concern myself.  I'm doing terribly in the Free Family League, and I need many things to fall into place in order to secure a playoff spot in the winner-take-all League of Mostly Couples.  Unfortunately, my brother-in-law needs to beat his brother this week to push me ahead in the standings in that league, and, well, that might take a Thanksgiving miracle.

BIL's appropriate team pic

• Cupcake (formerly known as Baby) is thoroughly obsessed with The Fox song.  She prefers the live on Jimmy Fallon's show version to the original, because she likes pointing at the horse with the Ylvis guys.  She asks to watch it multiple times each hour day, sings along ("pa pa pow"), and dances.  It's pretty stinkin' cute.
• Rip Claw (formerly known as 6 y.o.) earned his Bobcat rank in Cub Scouts.  I got to paint his cute little face during the presentation ceremony at the pack meeting.  Charming (formerly known as Husband, because he's like my Prince and my Jax Teller all in one charming package) and I are pretty new to the whole scouting deal, and still a little hesitant.  We like the values they teach, and Rip Claw enjoys the activities a lot.  We're not entirely sure, though, that we're getting our money's worth.  It seems like a lot of expense, time, and effort are going in to securing tangible recognition that he's learned things we have taught him since he was born.  The leaders talk a lot about scouting being a family oriented program, but it is really difficult for us to participate in many of the events as a family, and I feel like we're ostracized if we complete assignments or activities just as a family, without the den.  Oh, and then there's the lightly blanketed racism that seems to pervade everything scouting-related...but that's a subject for a different post.  And they also seem prejudiced against those of us who don't sew or iron.

First time in uniform a couple months ago.

• I'm running again!  I've been slowly building my weekly mileage up, and including lots of walking each time I hit the road.  I also was treated to a therapeutic massage recently, which helped with the lingering soft tissue pain around my healed stress fracture.  I already shared some of the lessons I learned from my injury, but I feel like I'm also applying even more intelligence and thought to my running regimen than ever before.  I'm keeping track of how much water I drink, and meeting my goal of at least 100 oz/day.  I'm strength training, with concentration on my core, hips, and quads.  I've been practicing yoga.  Perhaps my favorite change, though, has been the addition of these dynamic stretching workouts after running.  

Miranda Esmonde-White doesn't know it, but I love her.  She makes me want to hug my television.

• I tweet!  Follow me, if you please.  I am @Rhi_Tweeter.
• My Alma Mater has an Ah-Mah-Zing football team this year.  U! C! F!  Whooooo!
• Nightmares have been going around at our house.  A couple of nights ago, Rip Claw slept  in our bed after a bad dream, which has never happened before.  Last night, I had a terrifying dream about the Governor from The Walking Dead wherein he was tearing the heads off of people (not zombies) with a hook, and hunting down me and the other members of my group.

• I'm currently reading 3 books.  1 for regular book club:

Turns out, rock star stereotypes are sometimes quite accurate.

         1 for mini book club:

Page 1, I decided to hike the Appalachian Trail.  Then, changed my mind somewhere around page 1 1/2.

         1 to satisfy my inner sci-fi geek:

Better than the first (so far) and the "There Goes The Galaxy" was pretty grand.

• Let's see...is there anything else important that I should share?  Hmm.  Oh!  Yeah.  I registered for my second first marathon.  Did anyone else just stop breathing for a second?  No?  Just me, then.  If two marathons could be complete opposites, my first first and my second first are such.  This one is in its inaugural year, local, without rock bands (although I think it would be great if they hired some local bands to provide music along the lovely course) and without several thousand of the participants that ran in Savannah.  It's going to be great.  It's going to be great.  It's going to be great.  

It's going to be great.

       Perhaps my chant should instead be: "I will not get injured.  I will not get injured.  I will not get injured."

I know I haven't offered much advice in this post, but please feel free to comment with any questions you have about my areas of expertise, like barely making fantasy football playoffs, running hesitantly, sleeping on the couch or not at all after scary dreams, and... um... reading!  Oh, and if you need to know every single lyric of The Fox song, I can help.

10 Things I Hate About Me

If you're on Facebook, you've certainly seen the new thing going around.  Someone shares, "My number is __" and proceeds to write a corresponding number of things about him/herself that other friends might not know.  This is actually one of the least annoying memes (I hope I'm using that term right!) I've seen going around.  I've gotten a glimpse into the inner workings of many of my friends, which I always enjoy.  I have to say, though, my favorite was one posted today by my hilarious friend, Amy:

3 Things...

1. I'm just a small town girl, living in a lonely world.

2. I took the midnight train going anywhere.

3. Don't stop believing, and always hold on to that feeling.

4. Did I do this right?

The other day, I was debating whether or not I should "like" one of these posts in order to get myself a number.  I started listing in my head all the things I would share, and somehow, my thought process went to the movie, "10 Things I Hate About You" (wherein I thought Heath Ledger was awesome before all the other people thought he was awesome), and I thought that sort of list might be funny.  Then, I realized what a mean-spirited thing that was to think; how awful it would be for people to list things they hate about each other.  Then, I came up with this list, of 10 things I hate about me.  Stay tuned at the end of this post for the opposite-of-mean-spirited idea I eventually came up with.  You'll like it, I feel sure.

10 Things I Hate About Me

1. PORES.  They're big, they get clogged, and I hate the way they look.  I sometimes find myself staring really creepily at people with nice, smooth skin and invisible pores.  If you have been the victim of such a stare, I'm sorry for acting like a perv.

2. MEMORY.  It's just not what it used to be.  Sometimes, I blame my children, sometimes I blame my migraines.  Whatever the reason, I simply cannot remember things the way I used to.  At least 2-3 times each month, I forget how to shower.  I don't forget to shower (usually), I forget what I've already washed.  I shave one leg and not the other.  I find myself with a handful of conditioner and conditioner already on my hair.  It's frustrating, and let's face it, completely impractical.

3. EASILY ANNOYED. I rarely get really, truly, spitting mad.  I often get annoyed, and it is often by petty, silly things that don't have any bearing on my life.

  

I wish that obnoxious bumper stickers, apostrophe misuses, ridiculous advertisements, and people saying, "all of the sudden," "I gave it 1000%" and "conversate" did not make my brain start to itch.  

4. EASILY DISTRACTED.  This ties in with my vast procrastination skills, I think.  I get off task easily, and I always seem to be able to distract myself with silly, unnecessary things to avoid doing important, unpleasant tasks.

5. UNTANABLE.  I've lived in Florida my entire life, and I have never had a good tan.  Of course, I'm wise enough to use sunscreen, these days, but I didn't have a tan before I knew better, either.  I also have a 2-yr-old bottle of Jergens self-tanning lotion that I can't seem to remember to use consistently enough to see any result except orange elbows.  For those of you with dark, smooth skin, I apologize again for my open-mouth stares.  

6. PICTIONARY FAILURE.  I am probably the worst artist I've ever seen.  Almost everything I draw ends up looking like a rabbit, and not even a real, recognizable rabbit.  It's especially frustrating to be so terrible at drawing since I have a pretty creative mind.  I can see things drawn well in my mind, but you would think I was bypassing my hands and putting the drawing utensils in between my toes and closing my eyes.

7. I CAN'T DECIDE.  Ever.  I can come up with options, but I hate making decisions.  I guess this isn't the worst fault.  I believe my inability to make decisions comes from my strong desire to please everyone.  Also, it's probably genetic.  There's nothing our husbands love more than when my mom, sister and I try to plan things.  

8. SLUG.  Other than when I'm running, I'm a total slug.  I often wish I was one of those people who can't stand to sit still.  Instead, I'm driving around the grocery store parking lot looking for the closest spot, asking Rip Claw (formerly known here as 6 y.o.) to bring me my phone, a water, the remote, a diaper (not for me!), and lying on the couch watching television, facebooking, or listening to music all evening.

9. GRAMMAR BLOCKS. I read a lot, and good grammar is something that is important to me.  I don't know why, but no matter how many times I read the rules, and no matter how cleverly the rules are stated, I almost never feel confident that I'm using affect or effect correctly.  Same goes for further/farther.  With affect/effect, I usually just choose a different word altogether.  When I want to use further or farther, I simply try both, decide which sounds better in the sentence, and hope nobody calls me out on my error.

10. HAIR DOING.  My Cupcake (formerly known here as Baby) is going to hate this about me, too.  Similar to my drawing, my hairdos look like I grabbed the brush with my foot, closed my eyes, and then turned a few somersaults.

Not that bad, right?  I mean, the barrette isn't holding the hair away from her eyes, but...

  

then you see the back.  Uneven pigtails...

plus an uneven part and weird comb-over.  Poor kid.

Don't try to make me feel better about how badly I do her hair.  She sits still and patiently waits while I struggle.  It's definitely me that is the problem.  I don't think I've used a curling iron since I was 12, I use a blow dryer maybe once a year, and a flat iron seasonally.  Each time, I miss huge sections of hair, there are strays sticking out everywhere, and I usually burn myself.  You know those women who wear their hair in a sleek on top, perfectly curled ponytail right in the center of the back of their head?  Yeah, you guessed it.  I stare at them, too, jealous and amazed at their achievement.

So, there you have 10 things I hate about me, and now it is time to reveal my kind-spirited plan. I think you should tell 10 things you love about someone else.  It's like the spirit of Thanksgiving and the spirit of Christmas and the spirit of Sharing Everything on Social Networks all combined.  Be it here, or on your own blog, or wherever you please, just go on and say nice things about someone else.  Kindness is always in style, unlike my hairdo.

Have you ever caught someone staring at you and not known why?

Was it me?