X-Ray Vision

I hate to brag, but what's a girl to do when she finds out she has x-ray vision?  You see, it turns out our refrigerator is really only about six inches deep.  How do I know this?  Well, because no one, no one, can see anything past that.  Except me, it turns out.  Perhaps it's not my x-ray vision, exactly, it may be my super human ability to move items over and look and see what's behind them.

At any rate, I know where to hide all future family gifts...right behind the bin of organic spinach.  Ain't no way anyone is going to look behind that!

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Lovin' that Home Life

So, you know, yesterday my big guy told me that the older he got, the less annoying I got, right?  Well, now he's told me, "I like my home life."  I'm beyond thrilled, on the one hand.  I mean when I was seventeen I absolutely did not feel that way about my home life.  Far from it, in fact.  So, while I'm totally thrilled, I'm wondering if I also need to be worried...just a little bit.

After all, when I was seventeen, striving with every fiber of my being to be my own independent person, I was making plans in my mind about the how, where, when I would make moving out of my parents' home happen.  Is that discomfort necessary as a motivation to move out of the home you grew up in?  Does this mean my kid will never leave?

Not that I'm in a hurry or anything...I rather like the kid.

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Annoyingness is in the Eye of the Beholder

Well, it turns out I'm getting less irritating as a person, in general.  Or, I suppose, in specific.  You see, my big guy gifted me with this statement just this afternoon.

"The older I get, the less annoying you and dad are."

Now, of course I hastily patted myself on the back, only to be beat down gifted with this statement from my little guy...immediately after the other statement.

"No way!  You and dad are more annoying than ever!"

Ah, well. Good to know there's light at this annoying tunnel.

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Cold Hands, Warm Heart

...at least that's what I'd like to think.

You see, my hands are pretty much always freezing.  I don't think it's an aging thing, seems they've been cold as long as I can remember.  And these days, as I'm the smallest Parsons in the house, these frigid appendages are my main line of defense.

You say something I don't like...I lovingly place my hand on your cheek.

You refuse to do a chore I've asked you to...I encourage you to follow my directions by gently touching you on your bare back. 

You become a total spazz and blather on and on...I convince you to stop by putting both hands on your bare stomach.


This morning after several such incidences...

Little guy:  "You should go up in the sky and touch the atmosphere and make it snow."

Me:  "Aha, I have a new super power!"


I'll do my best to use it for good and not evil.

Festive...all year long

The time has come to take the holiday decorations down at our place.  Like anything holiday-ish, we're minimalists, of course.  What did we do?  Well, we dragged in the pony tail plant that resides on our front porch and I wrapped it with colorful lights.  I added a tree skirt to the bottom and called it "done".  Dave got the ladder and strung lights on the pillars and awning and called that "done".  Oh, and I hung our four stockings on the rock wall.  Seriously, that was it.  I figure it'll take us fifteen minutes tops to take everything down and have it back in the shed.  Awesome!

This undecorating routine reminded me of one of my clearest childhood memories.  When it came to Christmas, my mom was seriously all in.  She loved everything about the festivities involved and did all of them to the nth degree.  Well, one year when Christmas had come and gone, my mom met with refusal from everyone in the family when she asked for help with undecorating.  Everyone!  Even the cats, all eleven of them, just turned the other way and yawned.

So, what happened?  Did she just begrudgingly dismantle everything all on her own?  A task, mind you, that likely would've taken a crew of four multiple hours to complete.  Did she budget her time and take just a bit down each day?  No, she decidedly did not.  I don't remember her actually saying anything at all at the time, but come August, when our fully decorated artificial tree was still standing in the living room, we figured she wasn't going to do the undecorating without our help.  And, by the time it was September, well, that meant only three more months till it would need to be put up again, right?  So, there the tree stayed.  It became a fixture in the home.  After a while no one even bothered to ask about its presence in our home when they stopped by for a visit.  It was like the crazy aunt who came for a visit during the holidays...and never left.

Come January of the next year when it was time to undecorate once again, I don't think my mom had to even ask twice for help.  We were all over it.  She didn't even have to lift a finger.

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TILT!

I can't stand playing video games, but I rather enjoy watching people play them.  OK, actually there was a brief period around the turn of the century when I was addicted to Tetris to the point of seeing those wacky tiles falling every time I closed my eyes.  I've worked through that since then and it's no longer and issue.  Whew!  Anyway, all sorts of video games get played in my house.  The mild-ish sports ones, the build your own scenes/characters ones, and the horrifyingly delightfully violent ones as well.

When I was a teenager I'd go with friends to the video arcades.  I had little or no tolerance for playing the games offered up for stacks of quarters, but even then I rather enjoyed watching others play.  I totally remember the look of my boyfriend's hind quarters as he twitched uncontrollably, swayed back and forth, and had words with the machine as he played pinball.  Sigh...

Well, right this second I'm watching Dave and my little guy play some FIFA soccer game.  And, ya know what?  They're sitting versions of that boyfriend of mine.  Twitching, swaying back and forth, urging a ball/player (or whatever) to go a particular direction, and howling exasperation and celebration alike.

Yeah, I don't get it, but it sure is entertaining to watch.

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So Ugly She's Cute

I often rave about our old standard poodle, Scout.  She's eleven (I think), and the sweetest dog ever.  She'd be just perfect if she didn't pee every time she slept or relaxed or barked to vigorously.  Oh, and if she didn't consider the mailman to be her arch enemy, that'd be a bonus, too.

Well, this delightful creature crossed a line lately.  That line all of us aging folks dread.  Yes, the line where you become so darn ugly you circle back 'round and become cute once again.  How did this happen?  Well, partly it's that she has a ghostly white eye due to a cataract.  Gives here a rather unusual look.  But, mostly it's my fault.  You see, the last time I gave her a hair cut I went for the intentional lazy look.  Not that she minded any short cuts on my part as getting her hair clipped has never been on her "things I like" list.

What did I do to this poor creature?  Well, it's more like what I didn't do.  I left the top of her head, her ears, and her legs up to her leg pits (such a thing?) long and furry.  What started out as a lazy, yet cute, look that had her sporting the spitting image of Olivia Newton-John getting "Physical"...yes, I had her wear a bandanna on her head, has since turned into legs-o-dreads a la woolly mammoth style and a fro that would set Don King all a quiver.

So, I suppose she's due for a clipping that would reflect her inner beauty, but for just a bit longer her style will reflect my inner laziness.

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