Tonight I Realized...

...that I'm turning into my mother. And grandmother. And every single woman in my family.

I'm coordinating a dinner that's being taken to a family who had a death in the family this weekend.  I have an entire storage tub full of food that was brought to me from various people tonight.  Like, it's full.

I'm still getting food from 2 more people tomorrow night, and going to Walmart to purchase for all the people who just gave me money.

I will have at least two full storage tubs of food, and probably more.

I just panicked and almost cooked something else, because I thought "WHAT IF IT'S NOT ENOUGH?"

These are normal-sized humans who are going to have food for, like, the next 3 months out of what we're taking them.

I guess it's my "love language", or whatever it is people talk about.  I'm pretty sure "food" isn't one of the love language categories, but it should be.

But, hey.  Now at least you know that if I invite you over for dinner, I must love you and stuff.

It's also possible that if I invite you for dinner, I've got food that's about to go bad.  But you can pretend like it's love...

Livin' on a Prayer

The other day at Taco Casa (I feel like a disproportionate number of my stories start with that phrase) I overheard the most brilliantly annoying, amusing & upsetting conversation. Two girls, about my age, are having lunch. One of the girls is pregnant...maybe barely enough that I would have been able to tell, but believe you me, I could tell from the conversation. It went along the lines of this:

“OMG and I'm SOOO excited. And I hope it's a girl because that will be SO. CUTE.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And if it's a girl I can dress her up in really cute outfits everyday and it will be SO. CUTE.”

“Absolutely.”

I was just listening to this new mom thinking, “Oh my God. She has NO CLUE. I mean, I'm not saying that I'm totally prepared to have kids because I'm pretty sure no one is actually prepared. But oh my God. She's in for the shock of her life”.

Now, I know I don't have children. However, I do have more experience with them than your average non-mom. Not only all my billions of children I've taught, but from my stint as nanny-extraordinaire to child-extraordinaire, Baby J.

I went back mentally to one particularly memorable day in the adventures of Bonnie & JoJo. (BTW, Anna, mom-extraordinaire to Baby J, has never heard this story because I couldn't bring myself to tell it. But it's time).

So, most days JoJo and I were BFF. Seriously. But we all have our days, and this was one of them.

We had opened the morning with our favorite song, “I CAN'T LIKE YOU TODAY, BONNIE. I CAN'T LIKE YOU!”.

She had already had at least 3 Martin Luther King peaceful protests, during which she lays flat on the floor motionless until I either a) give in, or b) threaten to stick my head in the oven if she doesn't stand up and cooperate.

And that day, of course, I had to go to the bank. Like, HAD TO GO. So, against my better judgment, I decide that we have to use the pre-nap window of opportunity and head out (Keep in mind, going anywhere from JoJo's house is an excursion. Believe me).

She might or might not have been wearing the shirt she slept in with elastic waist shorts. And I might or might not have told her to just run her fingers through her hair so we didn't have to brush it. And I'm positive I told her to just “grab some shoes and put them on in the car”. Like I said, we had a window of opportunity that we couldn't afford to miss.

So, we went to the bank. We went by the DQ, because me and Baby J keep it classy. And then we headed back.

From the backseat, I hear a tiny voice singing joyfully.

Pink...shoo yell...ashoo...Pinksh...oooyellash...ooo

Obviously, singing “I've Got the Joy Joy Joy Joy Down In My Heart” has PAID OFF. Because this child is now a musical genius. It should be obvious to all that she is doing a jazz-style scat solo in the backseat of my car. I'm watching a prodigy form.

Pink...shoo yell...ashoo...Pinksh...oooyellash...ooo!!!!!!

Then, it starts to click.

Hey, Jo, what are you singing?

Pink...shoo yell...ashoo...Pinksh...oooyellasho...ooo!!!!!!!!

No really, Josephine. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING???

Pink...Shoo...Yella...Shoo...Pink...Shoo...Yella...

Oh. My. God.

I turned to look, and there it was.

A Pink Shoe. And A Yellow Shoe. On her feet. After we had been in public. Twice.

So, that was what came to mind at the Taco Casa. Most days, JoJo was dressed perfectly. I french-braided that hair almost every day of my life for a couple of years (one of my lesser-known spiritual gifts...french-braiding on a moving target). It was SO. CUTE.

But some days, little pregnant girl, you're gonna be living on a pink shoe, a yellow shoe and a prayer.

Hope you're ready.

A Night in the Life--Aladdin, Jr. Edition

(Bonnie addresses her captive audience. Average age: 8)


Bonnie: Now, I need everyone to put your right hand over your heart.  If you are unsure which hand is your right, ask a neighbor.

Now, repeat after me. I, (say your name)...

Babies: I (mumbling which probably consisted of at least 5 people saying "say your name)...

Bonnie: Promise to NEVER...

Babies: Promise to NEVER...

Bonnie: EVEREVEREVER...

Babies: EVEREVEREVER...

Bonnie: touch anything backstage.

Babies: touch anything backstage.



Bonnie: I further promise...

Babies: I further promise...

Bonnie: to never *think* about touching anything, nor shall I sit on, breath beside or look longingly at anything backstage.

Babies: <<got a little unintelligible around here but I think the idea was there.>>



Bonnie: Now, we really can't ever touch anything backstage because backstage in a big theatre is pretty dangerous, you know? And we certainly don't ever sit on anything backstage.  Why not?

Smart Baby: Because it might roll away!

Bonnie: YES. Almost everything backstage rolls, and it might hurt you, or hurt someone around you, or pull down the curtains or something.  I mean, really bad things can happen when things start rolling.  So, don't ever sit on ANYTHING backstage.

Sassy Baby who is definitely not my BFF: Can we sit on the floor? [eyeroll]

Bonnie: No.  Now, that brings up a good point.  Why shouldn't we sit on the floor backstage?

Precious, Terrified Baby: (with horror in her eyes)

BECAUSE IT MIGHT ROLL AWAY!!!


So, ladies and gentlemen, the next time you meet a small person who is horrified that the floor of the theatre might roll away any second, you can thank me.

Hey...I think a little terror is good for kids every now and then.

Making My Heart Go Pitter-Patter

If you know me well, you know I’m a thrift store whore.  Like, really.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I have a very specific list of things I will *not* buy at a thrift store under any circumstances... although I’m almost positive that my list is shorter than most.  Whatever.  I’ve got a strong stomach (just not strong enough for underwear or bathing suits if that’s what you’re thinking...although I totally did buy a bathing suit at the Unclaimed Baggage store, but I bleached it and stuff... whatever.  Not the point).

I’ve kind of got another list of things that I’ll almost *always* buy at thrift stores when I find them.  The list, at least as far as decorative items go, is pretty obvious walking around my house.

Colored Glass Bottles & Sturdy Wall Shelves

Paintable Picture Frames with any amount of Ornate-ness

Mirrors in an Interesting Shape

and, probably the newest fixation on my list,

CLOCKS.


And now, for the point of this post (using the term ‘point’ loosely since I’m not entirely sure my posts ever have a point).  I made a quick stop in the Lovelady Thrift Store the other day between work and rehearsal.  This happened.

HELLO.  I mean, seriously.  If it was possible to fall in love with a small, dresser-top clock, date it and take it home to meet my parents, this would be The One for me.  It is shiny.  It is ornate.  It has a pedestal foot.  It works (which ironically enough is one of my *major* qualifiers for falling in love, dating and taking ANYTHING home to meet my parents).  

Karen asked me recently if someone made my heart go “pitter-patter”.  I told her that my heart doesn’t go “pitter-patter”.

I was wrong. My heart *totally* goes “pitter-patter”.  Next step of 2012: be as emotionally open to people as I am to clocks.  But still...small, small victories.

And...she's back

Last night, my biffle Holly came over. I know she's a keeper because she remains my best friend even though I insist on using terms like “biffle” regularly. She's doing this show (Becky Shaw, which you should probably go see) in which she plays a character who she insists is NOT “like” me, yet dresses remarkably similarly.

So I dressed Holly from my closet for the show. We made it through the daunting task of me trying to explain to her what I would wear and how I would wear it (“Put this yellow shirt on under that DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT TRUST ME”). We ate. We drank. We talked.

Big Al (as I like to call my boss, the priest) has been OUT. OF. CONTROL this week. Just as a small taste, this week I said the words “No. We absolutely cannot play Kenny G nor a piano version of Stairway to Heaven as the underscore for your video blog”. If you find out that I'm not the only person in the whole world who said that sentence this week, I will challenge you to a duel.

Amidst all his general craziness this week, though, he said something Thursday that stuck with me. Out of nowhere, not related to anything at all, he said,

“You know, sometimes we're so busy looking for the miraculous. We forget that sometimes the ordinary is miraculous”.

So, that's it friends. This week has been AWFUL (not related to Big Al so much as general crazytrain I work on). And then you get what you need. A plain, ordinary night. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing miraculous. Just enjoying life.

...And trying to convince someone (H-Dawg) that, in my fashion world, yellow and pink are both to be treated as neutrals and it's perfectly acceptable. One of these days, you'll catch on. I believe in you and your ability to wear color.

P.S. I've got, like, 4 blog posts going right now. So get ready. I'M BACK.