Dear Diary – Little Guy celebrated his sweet 16 and I’m being pressed to give him a new nickname in my blog. Since he nearly towers over every member of our immediate family, (and has long objected to the nickname “Little Guy”), it’s not a completely unreasonable request. But what to use? Tall and short are out as that offends the older the brother, who is shorter than Little Guy. Both, obviously, tower over me. Beard and No Beard won’t work for long. Dumb and Dumber doesn’t work because sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart. Also, as a Mom, I should be more sensitive. I guess. No.1 and No. 2 make me think of bathroom jokes, which I’m sorry, work at any age. I could use their first initial, “J” and “M”, but that’s kinda boring. I’m open to suggestions!
Dear Diary – I broke down and made French toast for lunch one day. Youngest Son was just staring at the pan, so I asked him what he was thinking. He answered, “That French toast is shaped like my butt”.
Really? I was just thinking it looked yummy….
Dear Diary – It’s been a long time since I shared a TMI: Terrible Mental Image. A TMI is the sudden manifestation of a mental picture painted “with broad, sweeping strokes” where your brain (whether it dwells in the gutter or not) spontaneously fills in the blanks after someone says something that may be completely innocent.
I haved shared 8 TMIs in the past, ranging in depravity. Just search “terrible mental” in the search box at the top of this blog and they should all magically appear. Here’s #9.
The scene: Sitting down the lunch on the couch on Saturday morning.
What was said:
Hubby to Youngest Son: I need to put your mark on the wall.
What He meant: Every year we record Youngest Son’s height on the door frame.
My TMI: Youngest Son rubbing his tiny butt on the wall to mark his height next to brown “skid marks” lining the wall at increasing incremental heights.
Think about it for a moment. Picture it.
There you go!
Dear Diary – For once, though it was certainly not the prettiest birthday cake I’ve ever produced, it was a successfully baked birthday cake. No sticking. No peeling. No snafus.
Are you disappointed?
But later that same weekend, Oldest Son and I tried a new recipe. Well, the essence of a recipe because really we just took the idea and threw it together. I’m not sure what to call it. It’s actually kinda gross, but strangely hard to stop eating. We made rice krispy squares, without the rice krispies. Instead, we substitued them for plain rippled potato chips. It was oddly good warm, like a plate of nachos. It was oddly good cold, like a salty, chewy cookie.
Salty, sweet, cripsy, gooey marshmallow chip guck.
I think I”ll work on the name.
Dear Diary – It wasn’t the first snow of the season but Sunday was certainly the first major snow this season. It was coming down in thick flakes, making the roads greasy and reducing visibility. Having grown out in a small town, driving in snow is no biggie. Clean your car so you can see. Slow down. Leave extra space. All common sense in my opinion. But in the city, I never cease to be amazed at how silly people can be. I realize that winter driving is new for a lot of people in the city. Driving is new for a lot of people in the city! But even seasoned, experienced drivers seem to “forget” how to drive in the few short months of no snow. We passed cars that had careened off the side of the highway, probably going too fast. We passed cars with rear windows still thickly covered with snow, like a blanket. Who in their right minds would drive with a blanket covering the back window? At the very least, if you’re blessed with a rear wiper, don’t be so lazy. Flick the button!
Concerns over contracting covid sounds a lot nicer than “I’m not leaving the house because I don’t have the patience for stupid people”. It’s going to be a looong winter.
Dear Lord, grant me the serenity to accept stupid people as they are, the courage to maintain my self-control, and the wisdom to know that if I act on it, I will go to jail. Amen.
Unknown
Dear Diary – Just when I think I’ve escaped, they pull me back in. Just kidding.
Yesterday I was asked to come to my former job to train the latest Gatekeeper in the Cubicle of Purgatory. This will be the third office administrator I’ve trained since I “retired” 2 years ago. (Time flies!) Covid certainly played a part in tallying up replacements, but I confess, it also feels kinda nice that I’m almost “irreplaceable”?
I have mourned over this job for a long time. The decision to leave was difficult and I left wounded. But it is time for someone to take up the baton and I was happy to go in and share what I could, to give the new Gatekeeper an excellent start to her new beginning.
I suspect I will still receive a few panicked phone calls though. I have for the past 2 years. 😉
I felt sad as I drove out of the parking lot and, as so often happens, God spoke to me through music. I had popped in an old cd Friday night and it was just there in the background. A guitar began to strum and someone sang softly, over and over, “Leave it all behind.”
It’s what I’ve been trying to do – to leave behind hurtful actions and words, the anger, and the frustration. I’ve prayed for healing. I’ve prayed for forgiveness too. Conflict usually involves more than one person and there are things I wish I had done differently. I prayed God would tear down the walls and sharp places in me that had built up and made me feel angry and hard. I’ve hated it. I don’t want to be someone who is judgmental and easily offended, self-absorbed and unkind. My name, “Jennifer” means “gentle spirit”, not “raving lunatic”!
Since I started this blog, I have changed quite a bit. Some changes have been good and I like them. I feel more comfortable with who I am. I’m less caught up in being perfect. I worry less about what others think of me and I can laugh at myself more. I’ve certainly had more fun, made some crazy memories, and learned some things along the way.
But I haven’t liked all the changes or ways I’ve started to adopt. I know, with God’s help, I can ditch them for something better. I get to choose.
I’m still searching and waiting for direction because I don’t believe I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do. I haven’t “arrived”. Change can be good, even when it’s painful, and I’m ready to leave this behind.
Isn’t it ironic that the next song talked about God breathing life into old bones? Don’t tell me God doesn’t have a gentle sense of humour!
Dear Diary – Purolator, who delivered my box to the wrong address (thankfully the lady down the street finally let us know….3 days later) and who have since ignored my efforts to tell them off get in touch with them, sent me a survey to rate them on my recent experience with them.
This is going to be fun…
jennsmidlifecrisis 