Little Boys

Yesterday, I babysat two little boys who are roughly 4 yrs old and 2 yrs old for about 3 hours.

Which is why there was no blog post last night. I ate my Taco Bell, watched some tv, drooled a bit from the brain damage, and went to bed.


Ok, I actually had a ton of fun and also panicked several times, but since they are very little, energetic boys, only panicking several times was a good thing. And they were so excited to get to play with me. And called me “Miss”, which was hilarious and awesome all at the same time. I feel way too much like a child to be called “Miss” by another child.

Comment of the evening:

Older brother: We used to call (younger brother) “Baby”…Should we still call him baby?

Me: Well, babies are my FAVORITE, so I think “Baby” would be okay. (

Older brother: WELL, 4 year olds are MY favorite.


Touche, my young sir. Touche.

Worst Fears

I had someone tell me this past year that I seem to have a lot of “worst fears”. Which made me realize that I actually do say those words way too frequently. They can’t all be “worst”, as multiple superlatives in the same category are a logical impossibility.

But just for kicks and giggles (and because I’m a horribly irregular poster), I’ll give you a list, not necessarily in order of importance, of my “worst fears”.

1. My mom not knowing me someday.  1a. My mom not ever knowing or recognizing her grandchildren.

2. Losing a child under my care. Heaven forbid it be my own child. There is no terror quite like not knowing where a child is.

3. Burning alive. I’ve always been afraid of fire, but even if I wasn’t, I would really hate to die because my flesh was being melted off my bones while my internal organs were being cooked EVEN IF I went unconscious from smoke inhalation.

4. Drowning. I dabbled in that last summer, found it wasn’t to my taste. I hated the lack of control.

5. That I will lose what is left of my mind. Again: lack of control. My nightmares are bad enough right now and it’s hard enough to hold onto reality sometimes. Being insane sounds like a nightmare you can’t ever wake up from.

6. Dying alone. In this case, I win and lose completely. Because everyone dies alone. No one can die with you or be with you as your soul leaves your body. But the good part is that Jesus actually is with you. The entire way. And protecting you completely. So this one is only a worst fear when I’m not thinking clearly, or I don’t have my priorities straight.

7. That I’ll become addicted to fill-in-the-blank substance. Any substance. I’ve watched people lose their minds, health, and loved ones due to drugs, alcohol, even the people themselves, just because they had an addictive idol. I don’t want that.

Meh. I think that’ll do for tonight. I know there have GOT to be others, but I assume 7 worsts are enough for one day. If you ever want to hear more, drop me a comment.

Yay Doctors.

I just love going to the doctor.

Depressing news. Weird, invasive questions. Needle pokes. Of course, I didn’t have to pee in a cup today. That was a total perk. And I really don’t mind donating blood to science, but what I hate is the testing and the still not knowing and the inconclusive “nothing’s wrong”.

I don’t think anything is truly wrong. So why do I have to talk to someone about something that might be troubling to me? Because that thing will not turn out to be anything diagnosable, and I will just have “dreamed it up”…It’s all in the mind. I’m just being a drama queen.


I’ve never had anyone say that to me. But my mom has an immune disorder. And for two years she was told to get over it, to just sleep it off, get up and work anyway, that it was all imaginary, because tests found nothing. But it was not imaginary. It was her body eating away at her brain.

Do I expect to have something wrong with my immune system, brain, or even my body? Not really. But if there is, I don’t necessarily trust the medical profession to find it right away. And I hate being vulnerable enough to tell someone about deeply personal things and then having nothing come of it.

So we’ll see. We’ll see.

Drill Bits and Towels

On a whim, I donated blood today. It’s been over two months, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I received a text today from the blood donation center while I was out doing errands and thought: why not.

So I dropped by, lost a pint of blood, hopefully saved three lives, and got a bright red beach towel out of it. My finger feels like someone drilled for oil in it. Or used an electric drill to root around for any remnant of iron left in my body. Turns out: I have plenty of iron. And pain receptors in my finger. Bad news: my third finger was the one poked, so I have to be careful about shaking it around or showing people for sympathy, because it can give the wrong impression.


Other news? I’m fighting for my life over a dress from hell. I was creating my own pattern which seems to be mildly disastrous, seeing as how getting it properly fitted is exercising my seam ripping skills and not my sewing technique. But beauty is painful. Or some other such cliche.


That’s all.

Good night.

Sparkly Bits

Every once in a while, I feel like divulging my soul to someone. Just…reaching in, pulling out a precious, little, sparkly pieces of soul and just gifting it to someone because I’m tired of carrying it around.

SO in times like this, I turn to the internet so I can spill my guts to the faceless millions. Because that makes sense.


But tonight, instead of having an emotional equivalent of a one night stand with the internet, I’ll hold onto all the weird little sparkly bits that I own as a soul. Not to mention, it’s never as fulfilling as you hope it will be. How can it? How can you be filled by tearing off pieces of yourself and giving them away?

It’s not fulfilling because people can’t be trusted. And since all of you know that, have experienced betrayal, even if it was of that one stupid little secret that didn’t really matter except to YOU, I won’t elaborate any more. Because people don’t always recognize the preciousness of our little soul pieces.

And what’s worse, sometimes we overrate the preciousness of our soul pieces. And by that, I think I mean that they have emotional weight and value, but intrinsically, our secrets are relatively silly. Small. Uninteresting. Normal. That’s not supposed to make you feel lesser than or stupid for holding them so sacred, but realize there are SO many other people out there who are unrequited lovers, victims of abuse, lonely, easily scared, afraid of attachment, grieving, dirty… It means that maybe you should give the secret weight because it’s yours and it matters to you, not because it’s so life threateningly awful on its own.

Most of us are not murderers, great spies, or really anything that is truly secret worthy. A lot of us lead very normal, painless lives, touched by those tragedies that wouldn’t even light up other peoples’ radars. The deaths of parents. Sicknesses. Loss of friendships. Minor betrayals. Dreams and desires no one has ever heard. All so normal. All so very, very intimately, our own.

And we speak those secrets, they look less…terrible. Significant. Important, in the daylight. And that hurts worse than betrayal. How can you impart, in words, the feelings, the history, the depth of experience that a dream, a fear, a secret is to someone who has not harbored that secret themselves?

But that’s where being normal is. Maybe that person never had the dream of riding through a meadow on a stallion. And they think that sounds kinda goofy and blase. But suddenly that person remembers how desperately they wanted to swim. Not just, jump in a pool, swimming, but real, deep sea, never coming up for air, just gliding through water, kind of swimming. And while they don’t understand the horse dream, they know how vulnerably badly they want to swim like that. And for glimmering moment, they understand the dream.

The same can be said for phobias, losses, memories, hopes, and any other secret. Tapping into our own empathy is what makes it possible for us to recognize other people’s sparkly little bits of soul for the precious thing they are: lives seldom told, often harboured jealously, dying and hoping to be seen and cherished by someone else.

Emotional one night stands are bad. But divulging your soul to trusted sources is not. I think, in time, they’ll understand when you’re being truly vulnerable and treasure that vulnerability. Choose wisely whom you share your soul with. Don’t let them throw the sparkle away.

You Talk Too Much…

I love talking. Yes, it’s obviously wonderful to hear the sound of my own voice, but primarily what I mean is: I love exchanging ideas and stories with my close friends. There is nothing I find more enjoyable. If I could sit in the presence of the people I love for the rest of eternity, and do nothing but listen to them, I would be thrilled. I am such a quality time love language person.

And yet, I do not always do well with spending time with people. I hide away. Or I look at a computer or my iPad while the other person is speaking. Or I continue to kill myself with school, even though I’m parched for human contact. I’ll often go and sit at the kitchen table, just to be near my mom while she’s working. I might try to distract her or make her laugh, but mostly I sit there, pretending to do something else and just suck at her presence: dying for her to notice me, but being okay that I’m just there. You see, if she did stop to talk to me (which she often does), I rarely have anything to say and what I do have to say wasn’t pertinent, nor was I generally dying to get it out.


I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this. What this post is supposed to be about is how wonderful today was. I held babies, one of which only wanted to sit with me, because she was destroyed that her mommy left her. It feels pretty good to be an acceptable mommy replacement. But even better, I spent the entire afternoon with Jess. We ate lunch together, got to talk as a whole big family: her mom, mine, Auntie, her younger sisters…

We started making wedding plans. We hashed out a lot of basic stuff and have nearly finished planning the various showers and frivolities. And Pinterest is exploding.

So I got in my time with my people today. It was refreshing. Soothing. Fulfilling.

I love them very much.

Sweaty, But Frosty!

I sweat more than is reasonable for a human, much less a female.

But at least I had fun while it was happening. Not because I was sweating, of course. I’m not quite that desperate for entertainment. I was playing racquetball with the DFL. At least, he was playing racquetball. I was trying to.


I helped prepare dinner.


I haven’t fallen asleep while working on school or my business ventures.


I got to eat french fries and a frosty from Wendy’s today. They had remarkable business sense placing themselves in front of a gym, for all of us inner fatties who adore food.


That’s pretty much all I have to report. It’s time for a coma for me now.