I’m really sorry.

When I was in 7th grade, I did something awful.

Really awful.

So bad, in fact, that I still think about it today. And every once in a while, I think about finding the object of my bad behavior and apologizing. I’ve tried, you know. But no luck. It wouldn’t matter anyway. I can’t undo 7th grade angst.

Can’t be done.

Let me step back a second and say that I was not a mean girl.

I was not in the most ‘popular’ crowd.

But clearly, I was pliable.

Because when the mean girls wanted me to do this deed, I did.

Did I know it was wrong? Was I extremely uncomfortable? Did I almost throw up?

Yes to all. But I did it just the same.

And I’m ashamed.

I wrote a love letter to a really not popular (but extremely smart) guy, perfumed it, and put it in his locker – through the slots.

Signed….Anonymous.

Nice, huh?

It still haunts me.

How could I have been so stupid? So insensitive?

So…. twelve!?

And yet, I was.

I bet this guy is a rocket scientist or an NIH researcher on the verge of a major discovery or a professor at Stanford.

And I bet his braces are off and his haircut is better and his clothes? Well, I hope he’s dressing better. That’s all I’m going to say.

But I never got to know him. He was probably a really nice guy. I’d imagine he worried about the same things I did.

Grades. Friends. Not embarrassing myself.

We probably had a ton in common.

But I did that thing.

That awful thing.

And I’m sorry.

The saving grace? I learned from that. It made me so sick afterward that I never was mean like that again. NEVER. (And if you know me IRL, you believe me I’m sure.) I never want to feel that regret. That guilt. That…self-disgust…. that I felt after I saw his face after he found the letter.

He was elated. Someone cared about him.

But I knew it was false.

Crap. I feel nauseous all over again.

I am not what you’d call laid back, I suppose.

Photo from The American Terry Co. where you can purchase this lovely robe for $70. Makes a great Christmas gift.

I know I’m a fairly intense person. I work hard. I expect a lot. I’m a perfectionist in many ways. Some say that even when I’m relaxed, I’m not all that relaxed.

I beg to differ.

I KNOW HOW TO RELAX.

Sorry ’bout that. Let me start again.

It’s true that people don’t consider me to be a laid-back girl. But that’s okay. I pride myself on getting things done. Being ahead of the game. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

But no one would say that I’m a prima donna about how I look. Yes, I try to wear clean clothes. (I almost always have clean underwear on. Well, almost always.) It’s true that I pull my hair back into a ponytail on those days when I can’t blow dry it. And it’s always true (yikes) that some days, I don’t change out of my gym clothes until after lunch even though I work out long before breakfast.

And it’s true that some days, I don’t ever put real shoes on and just wear my fuzzy L.L. Bean slippers. It makes me happy.

And one more thing. I don’t bother with makeup very often. Some days, I’ll quick use some tinted moisturizer and mascara and maybe, just maybe, some blush. But most days? Nothing. Nada.

But (aside from that one time that I think I’d be best not to discuss here), I never leave the house except in clothes. They might be crappy sweats, but they are socially accepted clothes. Not pajamas. But real, honest-to-goodness, clothes. And usually shoes. (Okay, fine. Sometimes slippers.)

So please don’t get me wrong as you read on. I’m not criticizing these women. I am insanely jealous.

There are tons and tons of school busstops around here. Tons, I say.

Of course, mothers are only allowed to go to the stop in elementary school. By middle school & high school, my sons (and children around the world) would rather crawl under a rock (with a scorpion or worse) than have their mother stand with them at the busstop.

Seriously. If you’re doing that now, stop. For the love of Pete…. (who is Pete?)

But I digress….

Elementary school busstops. Aren’t they just the cutest thing ever?

There are 6 ore more in my neighborhood alone. And tons more on my way to the gym and the store, etc. And, after extensive… I mean EXTENSIVE primary research studies, I am here to tell you that there is one – ONE – busstop where the moms come in their bathrobes. Every. Single. Day.

Every other stop in the zip code has dressed mothers.

But this one? Bathrobes. Slippers. Coffee.

At first, I’d drive past and smirk. How could these women go outside like this and humiliate their children. How long would it take, for goodness sakes, for them to throw on a pair of jeans and sneakers?

But little by little, I realized that these were the luckiest women in the world.

They didn’t care what anyone thought.

They were cuddly as all get-out.

They were a team.

I mean, if one mom got dressed, the others would look kind of….undressed. Don’t you think?

But they stick together in their state of cuddliness and, at least today, I am extraordinarily jealous that I can’t be that laid back. Well, that is if I was allowed at the stop anymore anyway.

So I guess it’s a moot point.

But that’s what I’ve been thinking.

Monday morning you sure look fine

Everything was looking rosy this morning. Well, mostly everything.

And then it didn’t.

Sometimes I handle work stress really well. And sometimes I don’t.

Kind of like Mounds/Almond Joy… you know what I mean.

But now, it’s Monday night.

The boys are in bed. Andrew is out watching the Ravens get slammed by Green Bay. Well, slammed might be a bit harsh.

Anyway….

I was looking through some things in the basement. There I saw my 45 collection. I couldn’t help but smile.

Billy Don’t Be a Hero (The Legend of Billy Jack. Remember?)
The Night Chicago Died (I never understood it)
Popcorn (catchy)
Half Breed (yikes, I bought that?)
Seasons in the Sun (my first kiss)
Lots and lots of records.

And my all-time favorite. I know all the words: Life is a Rock, But the Radio Rolled Me.

What’s your favorite from back in the day?

The future looks bright.

It’s no secret that I’m a glass half full kind of girl.

There’s been a lot going on around here. Illness in the family and personal stress. But you know what?

As exhausted as I’ve been and as little as I’ve slept, I can’t help seeing great and exciting things coming up soon. Is it a sure thing?

No.

But I’m envisioning a bright, happy December. And I bet I get it.

Or at least I’ll be seeing the glimmers of hope along the way.

Optimism has its rewards.

Thanks.

thanks for:

the memories
friendship
the game
the hug
the thought
the card
the cuddle
the kiss
thinking of me
the text
the help
the ride
the schlep
the confidence
the support
the blind faith

and that’s just today’s list.

have a great holiday.

What a difference a day makes.

The sun is shining.

The coffee tastes great.

I know what needs to get done today – and it seems possible.

I have great friends and a wonderful family.

I am grateful for all these things. And more.

Do you ever?

I’m decisive.

I know what I like. What I want.

But there are times when what I decide I want, I want because it’s what I need to want. Know what I mean? I mean, if what I really want is just not going to happen, not reasonable, not possible… I can get to that place where I want what is reasonable and rational to want.

Every once in a while, that paradigm gets tossed on its butt.

And then, for just a little while, just a little bit, I want what it’s not reasonable to want.

Crazy things happen.

Sometimes.

Unplugging…

Looking forward to an un-plugged weekend….

Friends.

Food.

Music.

Schlameel, Schlamazell, Hofenpepper Incorporated.

Does Andrew make a great Laverne, or what?

We had a blast at the party last night even though we lost The Newlywed Game big time. Well, I guess that’s no surprise. I didn’t even know my beloved liked to cross-dress so what the heck do I know?

I did learn that Four Roses bourbon is really smooth.

And I learned that everyone likes pigs-in-blankets.

And I learned (okay, I was reminded) that a night out with good friends sure can turn the week around.

And I was also reminded that I prefer my hub with facial hair. (He had to shave to make the costume work.)

On his list today? Grow it back.

It’s that time of year again.

Basketball.

Here we go again! It’s the first week of practice and, I have to say, I’m kind of excited about it.

I love the echo of the bouncing balls at practice. I love seeing my guys play and improve.

But today, what is most exciting is looking at this group of boys and seeing that Reed is the tallest kid.

His odds were iffy. My dad is not tall. I’m average. But Andrew and his dad are 6′ and 6’2″ respectively. And my grandfather was also over 6′.

There are good basketball players who aren’t tall, but it doesn’t hurt.

As I sit here and watch, I see these boys – at their first practice, with new kids – working their butts off. They are sweaty and their faces are red.

I can only imagine the smell that will linger as we drive home after they finish playing.

But it’s worth it.