Oliver

My dear, sweet, energetic, easily distracted boy.

I love him.

Even when he licks my face while I am sleeping.  After eating a bowl of his food.

Or when he pees all over me the second I walk in the door.

I still love him.

We've noticed throughout the years he has the attention span of a goldfish (get's that from his mom) and the energy level of a terrier (his dad).  But he's smart as...well, a Golden Retriever.

"Oliver, go get your ball."

He knows what this means.

"Go get it!"

He runs out of the room.  A man on a mission.

Chomp, chomp, chomp.

He wanders back in.  Says hello.  Burps.

"Oliver.  Go.  Get.  Your.  Ball."

Oh yeah.  Runs out.  Slides on the hardwood.

Shlurp, shlurp, shlurp, shlurp.

All that thinkin' made him thirsty.  He trots in.

"Hey.  I said I need that ball.  GO GET THAT BALL!  I mean your ball, go get YOUR ball."

He runs around the apartment, up and down the stairs, and back into the room.

He forgot.

"Ball."

Oh, yeah.  Runs out.  Brings Christmas Bear held oh-so-gingerly by the bear's pom-pom nose.

"That is not your BALL."

huh?

"BAAAAALLLL."

huh?

"Ball!  Ball!  Ball!  Go get your BAAAALLLLL!!!"  (not crazy.  encouraging.  there's a difference)

Finally!  He finds the ball in his toy basket.  I pat myself on the back.  Sometimes it just takes a little craz....uh, encouragement.

Happy Birthday!!!

To my sister Katie who turns 23 today!!

I only have a few memories of when you were born, and not surprisingly, they all revolve around me:

1.  I loved drinking mom's prune juice.  For her it was relief from the nasty things you did to her insides.  For me it was yummy brown juice.
2.  I played with my Lite-Brite the night you were born.  "Yeah, yeah, I get a baby sister, but look at this flower!!"

It wasn't until you started walking and making real words that I started forming what I would call fond memories.

Like dancing around the living room in our underwear to Psalty the Singing Songbook records.

Remember Psalty?  And his daughters Melody and Harmony? 

Remember records??  Yeah, me neither.

We built forts out of our bunk beds, made mud tacos (thanks to the strong Mexican influence in Southern California), and tried to rig a bathroom in the red wagon out of funnels, Tupperware and cardboard boxes for those long treks from one side of the backyard to the other.

I was your interpreter when everything you said sounded like, "I poopie dada jump on broccoli," or swear words.

By the way, you're welcome for not telling them you were actually swearing. 

We played in the bathtub with toys, soap crayons, and our imaginations.  We crafted bubble beards and clothing and made a game out of "find the turd" when Kimberlie finally joined us.

You've been a good little sister, and to reward you I will not post your 6th grade, pre-braces picture.  You know, the one with your buck-teeth and eyes, nose and mouth too big for your head.

Yeah, I said you were good.  But not good enough to not give the people a hilarious mental picture.

I'm still not over you eating my Lite-Brite pegs.

My inner demons

Inner monologe:

"I really should eat better."

"Hmmm...that's a good idea.  Eating right makes you feel good, and who doesn't want to feel good, am I right?!"

"Right indeed!  I saw we start with a helping of veggies.  Maybe some broccoli."

"I concur."

"Me too."

"Me three."

Two minutes later...

My co-worker, Sharon, comes into the room.

"I'm going to Rockhill Bakehouse, do you want a brownie?"






"Lemme grab my purse..."

So much for being in control over myself...myselves.

A new hobby

Apparently, when you become an adult your body does not bend the way it did when you were 6.

Unless you are an adult who bends for a living.  This actually encompasses several professions, so now is probably the time for me to get to my point.

I started, reluctantly at first, going to a gymnastics class at the YMCA.  My sister Kimberlie has been in the class for awhile now and raves about it.  She forced me to go one day after I completely exhausted my excuse bank.

And I liked it.

I liked it so much I decided to go back 8 months later.

Then I went again two weeks after that.

I haven't quite mastered the double twisty-loopdy doo, my handstand is more like a handtoppleover, my hip cracks every time I do a cartwheel and when I do a backwards roll I look like a frog in heat.  But I can do a mean somersault.  And I can fall onto foam pads like the rest of 'em.

But that's not the only reason I go.  The thought that, in theory, I could eventually flip myself forwards or backwards without help is super exciting.  I've missed my chance to be on the cheerleading squad, fawr-shawwwr, but there are endless opportunities to wow crowds with a triple axle.  Um....?

And as soon as I stop falling on my head, grow some muscle, and have that radical inner ear equilibrium balancing surgery that probably is not even real yet, I just might walk out of that class with some skeeelz.  (skeels=skills, for my older readers.  I said older, not old....moms.  And I said moms because mom and mom-in-law would have taken too much effort.  Why must I constantly explain myself?  That was rhetorical.)

I'm fighting the good fight

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that....cold, well yeah, it's a little cold in here.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not...hey, is it cold in here?

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch th....is there a heating pad in that closet?

I will not catch that cold.

No, the closet in the bathroom.

I will not catch that cold.

Could you bring it to me?

I will not catch that cold.

Maybe some tea, too.

I will not catch that cold.

No, the chamomile.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

Oh, and that box of tissues.

Yes, the whole box.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

Why?  Because I am not catching a cold!!

Hearthrobs

Meet my boyfriends of the 90s.

What's-His-Name - 98 Degrees.

Kevin - Backstreet Boys.

"...and my love is all I have to giiiiiiive, without you I don't think I can liii-iiii-iiiive..."

JC - N'Sync

And then there was my 80s boyfriend

Jonathan - New Kids on the Block.  Or NKOTB as they are now called.

My type was obviously the shy, mysterious boy.

Obviously.

Me = Fashion Faux Pas

I don't think I have to mention again how nerdy I was in Jr. High, but I will anyway just so you can be in awe of how resilient I am.

I read a million books a week, leaving me little time to learn how not to be socially awkward or study the fashion advice in teen Vogue.

Among other wardrobe miscues such as the Starter Jacket and overalls, I desperately wanted a poncho.  A loud, obnoxious, wooly poncho.

I don't know if I was planning on wearing it with my rainbow laced Pumas or my gramma version Teva sandals.  Either way, I was convinced a poncho was my way to dig myself out of the social hole I fell into at the end of 6th grade.

Luckily, I was never given that chance.