A Tear...

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Why I Look Forward To Getting Old.

I don't mean just older. No, not just turning 30 or 40 or 50.

I really look forward to 40 because I am determined to be the hottest 40 year old to walk the face of the earth. (No, not in the Heidi Montag/Pratt way either.) As in I have 14 years to getting around to working my a$$ off. I need that much of a head start. I suffer from slight-chronic-laziness.

I mean that I truly look forward to being vintage.

Where my hands are wrinkled and soft.

When I will laugh at people who want to be the hottest 40 year old on the face of the earth.

While I can still be entirely independent and inspire others with my overflowing well of wisdom and love.

I look forward to being like my Gran.

I spent the better part of the day with her. Better being because it was with her (and not screaming, tantruming, overtired children). No, I'm kidding, (not about the screaming, tantruming, overtired children part) spending time with her is by far the best time ever. Period.

It helps that she's the most wonderful woman ever.

And she bribed me with Smarties as a child. Totally worked.

I watched her today.

I watched the way she was always polite to others. Even when they were abrupt with her.

I watched her grin and bear it. Even when she was uncomfortable.

I watched her gingerly but stubbornly insist on being generous to a a fault. Even when I argued. (But she was the one I inherited my stubbornness from, so I lost. Thanks Gran...)

I watched her as she spoke so lovingly of my Mom and my Kiddos.

I watched as she walked, determined, for hours, at 91 years and 4 months of age, because she'll have time later to rest.

Most importantly though, I listened. I listened because I'd be damn stupid if I didn't.

Simply put, she's THE BRAVEST WOMAN WHO WALKS THE FACE OF THE EARTH.

I look forward to being 91 years and 4 months old. And I certainly hope by that time I have a granddaughter who adores me the way I adore her. (I plan on using Smarties.)

Shake It Off.

I went to bed before 2am last night. (Woot.) Then I woke up with a headache.

I thought the day was off to a rotten start after a couple of glitches and figured that my bad-week-streak was continuing.

The Hubby was running around to get out the door for a 4 day tour (most of it driving) and I was growling about all the things not working the way I thought they should.

The Drummer (who had just arrived after a 2 hour drive) looks at me after a couple of minutes into my irritating whine/rant about not knowing what to do says, "So. Pray about it."

Yeah. I figure I've spent a long time praying. I've spent a long time waiting for life to become what I hope and dream it to be. (Insert whiny voice here.)

And then the small moments when other people bestow a little wisdom on you SHAKES THE JEEPERS OUT OF YOU while also KNOCKING SOME SENSE INTO YOU.

Sis was telling me the other night about one of her clients who's an author.

This woman believes that everyone should write.

It gives the third person perspective on their OWN lives. Lordy knows everyone could use some of that.

So to follow in line with the slapping and shaking I disappeared into my studio (once Kiddos were sleeping) and created. For the last five hours. I scalded my fingers 8 times. Sweet nectar of hot glue.

I am now heading to bed feeling quite filled up.

A little more talking with God.

A little more snuggles from a little girl who put her pudgy hand over my heart tonight because she liked the feel of it falling asleep.

A little more breathing.

A little more late night apple snacks with a cuddly Prince who starts school in only three days.

A little more wine.

A little more creating and dreaming.

And now a little more sleep.

My life is a Decadent Double Milk Chocolate Cake with Whipped Cream and Strawberries on the side.

SLAPPED, SHAKEN and seeing things clearly. I am rich.

I Hate Emily.

Do you ever just have one of those days?

You know.

The ones where you seem to have a handle on things until the spark plugs come loose and you know that someone is going to unfairly (or fairly) suffer the consequences of your poor electrical wiring?

Today was it for me.

Not the first and surely not the last, but definitely on my list of ugh-ers.

It began simply enough.

The Prince getting a much needed and wonderful haircut from Sis.

Breakfast with The Hubby sans small hyper beings.

Then came the fuse box explosion...

Hours and hours on the phone with all major Life-Effecting/Insanity-Instigating Companies. The Phone Company. The Hydro Company. The Bank. The Credit Card Company.

Then to top off all the joy and chirping birds they brought to my afternoon, then came the Passport Application.

Or should I say the "Government forms that loath to be filled out so they randomly delete themselves FOUR TIMES IN A ROW."

I finally filled it in by hand. Like in the Dark Ages.

I foolishly decided that I was ready to trot off and get my passport photo taken after YELLING at the automated voice on the other end of the line all day.

(Emily, from Bell?... I hate you and your monotone questions. "CUSTOMER SERVICE" means get me a real person!)

Anyway, as I stood there, hair undone, makeup worn off, lip gloss forgotten, I thought, "This sucks. Now whenever I pull out my passport I will remember this lovely day."

But no. That wasn't the end. The Lady says "Cheese!" (NOT) snaps the photo, looks at it and announces in front of the looonnnggg line up behind me that I need to powder my forehead. When I mention that I don't have any with me she pulls out a large roll of paper towel and asks me to wipe down the shine. And while I'm at it can I wipe my nose and chin? Because it's not 500 degrees outside lady?! Sheepishly I dab. She's says dab harder. I glare. She snaps the photo again.

Hello Passport.

You'd better take me somewhere F^@%!#$ awesome in the world!

Have a nice night!