Monday, October 24, 2011

I am the 99%

1% of the population can walk successfully in 6 inch platform heels. The other 99% look clumsy/ scared /ridiculous. If you are in the 1%, and can ROCK those heels, more power to you. But if you cannot walk with confidence and attitude in those shoes, then please, stick to more reasonable shoes. Perhaps with lots of practice and the thumbs up from a trusted friend, you can move up to the elite 1%. But until then just accept that…WE ARE THE 99%

Inspired by a wedding I attended this weekend, where I watched a girl look completely ridiculous trying to walk in her shoes. Not sexy, not classy, not pretty, just RIDICULOUS. Why do people do that to themselves? And why don't their friend speak up?

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Hunca Munca in my basement

In Beatrice Potter's The Tale of Two Bad Mice, she tells of rodents wrecking havoc in a dollhouse: smashing plaster food, tearing the bolster, stealing things.

These mice seem to have moved to our basement, and are doing something in the dollhouse that Potter never mentions in her book:
My grandfather made this dollhouse for me, and now the mice seem to be using it for a toilet. Hunca Munca is definitely not sweeping out THIS house.

Another thing Potter doesn't mention is what happens when the household cat gets ahold of the mischievious mice. Hunca Munca was found dead at the bottom of the basement stairs.

(no picture, sorry)

Unfortunately, I'm fairly certain her criminal partner, Tom Thumb, is still on the loose.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


Yesterday you turned 9. It's amazing how time flies. This weekend you sat in my lap, and I thought of how I used to hold you, a newborn, in one arm. With the way you're growing you'll be taller than me in no time. And that's no small feat, as I'm 5'10". You used to say you wanted to be as tall as daddy (6'5"). Do you still want that?

I'm grateful you still sit in my lap. Occasionally you'll hold my hand walking home from the bus stop or crossing a street. Briefly, so briefly, and I remember how much I've always loved the feel of your soft hand in mine.

You're a Daddy's girl through and through. He's clearly your favorite person in the world, and you miss him when he's gone and rejoice in his returning. He tickles you and calls you his weasel and you squeal in protest, loving every minute of it.

You lost your grandfather this year, and handled his last days with so much love and grace. You spent endless hours over several months at his bedside, and it's no secret you were his favorite visitor. On his last night you shared a meal of macaroni and cheese and ice cream. The next morning you sat in the the living room with his lifeless body before the funeral home came to take him away. In the weeks that followed we talked about life and death and God and heaven and your late Uncle Greg. I explained cremation and tried to talk with you about soul.

It's been a hard year for me, and I wonder how much that has effected you. I know my patience and creativity and energy have been lagging, and I'm sorry for the times that I snapped at you and wasn't up to playing.

You're on the edge of childhood and the tween years. You still play with Barbies and Zoobles and Littlest Pet Shop. You're starting to take some flack for that. A girl in your class made fun of you for taking home the empty tissue box to make a home for your LPS. You were hurt by that, but I was proud to see you bring home another empty box a few days later. Stuffed animals trail behind you wherever you go, and you rotate your favorites. You love real animals, too, of all ilk. Foxes are your latest favorite. I'm not quite sure yet how I'll help you be a fox for Halloween.

As you get older I feel more pressure to pass on the things I want you to learn, most importantly to be KIND first. I'm also trying to figure out how to help you see things from a different point of view and to not take everything so personally. As an only child there are experiences you've lacked that might have helped you learn these things. I'm trying to help you navigate the waters of interacting with others.

You have some great friends, friends who love to play and laugh and be silly. I hope these friends become lifelong rocks for you.

9 years. Thank you for sharing your life with us for 9 years. You're halfway to adulthood. Halfway to college. I wish sometimes I could make time stand still, or reverse it. But we are here, now. Let's enjoy every minute.