Growing Younger

Apparently, it’s true. At some point in life, you hit an apex of maturity and then you begin to descend the other slope. Or maybe you just learn to relax and have fun in life, no matter the activity. I think I’ll go with the latter.

Yesterday was my birthday. How old, you ask? Old enough. A number large enough that I have a hard time imaging that it applies to me. A fact which I cannot change, no matter how disconnected I feel from it.

Happy Birthday to me! I found a store in town who still had chai! #getthechaiback #starbucks #ridiculoustorunoutofchai ūüėäI was at Starbucks twice in the morning. Once for breakfast with John where I discovered that our favorite store is again out of original chai! They said all the stores in town are out. They’d already been out on Tuesday and Wednesday, had it back Thursday and Friday, and were all out again! How was I supposed to use my free birthday beverage on my favorite drink on my birthday when they’re out? Sheesh. So after dropping my niece off at a class, I went to another Starbucks location. They did have some original chai…for a little while longer, anyway, so I happily ordered my free birthday chai, hung out, and did some journaling.

The early part of my afternoon was spent playing on the Wii with my son and niece. We raced on Mario Kart, ran after one another on Mario Chase, and beat up cartoon enemies in Pikmin. Good times.

We went up to fix some lunch and my niece showed me some hilarious videos she’d created using the Rewind Camera app. It plays your video backwards – your actions, your words, all of it. I shouldn’t have been eating while watching her eating chips backwards. They merge together from bits in her mouth to a full chip. It was a riot. We wrote down words to figure out how to try and say them backwards so they would sound “normal” when played back. Which, of course, they don’t, which is what makes it so funny. We laughed ourselves silly.

It’s not easy to say “Happy Birthday to me” backwards.

Last night my whole family all went out for Italian. Whole family includes Mom, Dad, my sister, her husband, their two daughters, John, the boys, and me. Ten in all. It’s one of those places where they put butcher paper on the table and hand out crayons. Naturally, that means some doodling is in order. My niece¬†wrote the smaller Happy Bday at my place before I sat down. The rest was all me. I tore that entire section out and brought it home. I just couldn’t see leaving it there.

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Afterward we came back to our house for presents and cake. And a little more laughter and fun. Then I sat down with my iPad to read all the sweet birthday greetings I received on Facebook. I was surprised by how many there were. It was a wonderful day of fun, games, laughter, family, and friends.

Video games, silly backward videos, doodling at dinner. Sounds perfectly appropriate. Right?

My Hair

Warning: We’re wading into the shallow end today. Read at your own risk.

003My hair, my hair. I know I’m not the only one, but I am sure fickle about my hair. When it’s short, I wish it were longer. When it’s long, I wish it were shorter. When it’s fluffy, I want it less so. And so on. My likes and dislikes of it are fairly extreme. The weird thing is that the days I think it looks great, no one compliments me. But on days when someone does compliment me, it’s when I thought it was kind of meh. So either everyone else is delusional or I have no idea what actually looks good upon my head. As much as I wish it was the former, I’m assuming it’s the latter.

I’m not excessively¬†vain or crazy into selfies. But I do take some shots of my hair kind of often. I think it’s because I’m trying to figure out what works and what doesn’t. The weird thing is that when I look back sometimes at pictures where I thought my hair wasn’t so great, I actually like it better after the fact. Clearly, I really don’t know what I’m thinking when it comes to my hair.

5799But I do know this. Every time I get it cut shorter, I get complimented. When it’s longer, I never receive compliments. Recently, I’ve been trying to get the photo mess on my iPhone cleaned up. Apparently 6,100+ is too many for my 16GB phone on top of the other stuff which resides¬†there. Go figure. Anyway, in going through the pictures, I made a little effort to look more at my hair. Good grief, this is sounding terribly narcissistic. Nevertheless, I’ve gone this far, so I may as well keep on going.

I’ve decided that I agree with the people at large. I look better with shorter hair. It’s spunkier, funner (yeah, I know), and just all around better. So I guess it’s time to lob it off once again, but this time, it’ll probably be here to stay. Well, not stay, actually.

IMG_8801One of the reasons I grow it out is so that I can put it up in a clip or pony tail or headband. I don’t even know why any more. I think it’s because I used to like doing that, but really, when it gets long and I do that, I get tired of having to do so, since it’s otherwise a ridiculously big mop on my head which gets in my face. Not only that, the grays seem to be encroaching on the sides of my head nearest to my face. Therefore, when I pull it up, they’re no longer hidden. I just haven’t yet made peace with them, so I keep coloring them and they keep growing in too fast, especially around my face and I have to keep hiding them. Thus, no more hair pulling up, back, or in a headband.

So as soon as the budget will allow, the fun spirals and their less spirally friends are destined for the salon floor.

And if you stuck with me this far, thank you. Now you know just how vain and shallow I can be. Mostly just about my hair, though. Plus you get to see one of my epic bedhead shots. Lucky you!
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Iggy

I shared about how I discovered the Instant Gratification Monkey here. Well, the guys who created him over at Wait But Why now have a plush version of him. One which I happily received on Christmas morning.

iggy smallInstant Gratification Monkey is kind of a mouthful. So I called him IG Monkey. Then Iggy.

My hope is that his presence will remind me of those times that I’m not doing what I should be and that acknowledgement will put me back on the path of what I really want to be doing. If nothing else, he’s terribly cute and soft. He also makes a great model.

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Instant Gratification Monkey

I’ve finally learned why I have such issues with procrastination. It’s all the fault of the Instant Gratification Monkey.

What? You say you’ve never heard of the Instant Gratification Monkey? If you have procrastination tendencies, you’ll want to find a comfy spot, grab your favorite beverage, and prepare yourself for some extensive reading. The guys over at Wait But Why have identified him as the problem behind procrastination. Enjoy their two-part article on How to Beat Procrastination. I’ll wait. On the Dark Playground, maybe. Hopefully not. Hopefully somewhere a little more productive, like the Dark Woods. Or maybe I’ll even cruise along in the Flow. That would be the best.

If you complete that task and make it back over here…without looking at Facebook, checking email again, or getting lost in the Dark Playground, let me know what you think. igm nope

{I hope I’m not in trouble for swiping, er, borrowing this little bit o’monkey graphic here. I’m referring people to their site and their post and giving them all the credit. Given my huge readership, they may add one more reader to their site. I hope. This monkey drawing belongs to the guys at Wait But Why. I’m just sharing the love.}

Some Days I Read

You know the type? Things are very far from how you thought they might be. Nothing catastrophic or awful, just way off-track.

After I dropped Zach off at work, I called the doctor to get an appointment for him, because he’s had some odd breathing issues. He says it feels like the air is too thick and he can’t inhale enough or exhale completely. It’s happened a couple of times during the past month and was kind of bad yesterday. They were able to get him in quickly – 9:15. So I had a little time to kill. Fortunately, I was prepared with the book I’m currently reading (M.C. Beaton’s The Quiche of Death) and my car is quite comfortable, so I hung out and read for half an hour.

Got him to the doctor’s and back to work and then I headed to the grocery store to pick up his prescriptions (inhalers – his lungs are a bit irritated). I should have been prepared. Every single time I go to the pharmacy, the prescriptions aren’t ready. It doesn’t matter if they were sent over an hour earlier or five. Sure enough, they weren’t filled. It would be about 30 minutes, she said. Fine. I wander around and pick up a few things we need. That only occupied 15 minutes. So I parked in the shade and read some more of my book.

I headed back in, and no, it’s not been filled. She asks if I have an insurance card. No, we don’t have insurance. She comments on the very high price of the prescriptions. The first is $57. Yes, I knew that was about what it would be. The second, more important inhaler, is $202. Oh joy. At first I tell her to fill them anyway. Then I told her to hold off. I called the doctor’s office and had it sent over to Costco. That will save us something.

I finally arrive at home nearly four hours after leaving this morning. Sigh. I had almost nothing planned besides being at home and getting things done. So in the name of productivity, I popped a pizza in the oven for lunch, read my book while eating, and then played Mario Kart with my oldest son. If you’re going to blow your day, go all the way, right?

Somebody got new shades!

On a very happy note, I had a massage in the afternoon, so after a time, I was off again. When I was done there and incredibly relaxed, I realized that the errands I still had to do (pick up prescriptions at Costco, pick up son at his job, stop by Barnes & Noble) were all wonky, as was the time in which to do them. They were scattered far and wide across our fair city. So I went to B&N for a bit and then picked up Zach. We headed up the road to get his prescription, with a stop at Sonic for some cold beverage goodness, as we were both quite thirsty. This took longer than necessary, courtesy of the ugly, messy traffic.

At last, we make it to Costco. This should be easy, right? Zip in, get the rx, pay for it, and leave. Yeah, not so much. It seems that they’ve received the prescription (late this morning, it’s now after 5:30), however, it hasn’t been filled. I need to go talk to someone else. Becca. To the other end to chat with Becca. She and her coworker are quite busy, though (apparently they were short-handed that morning), so I just stand there for a little while until she can break free. The other tech says it’s because he’s a new patient there, so she pulls out his rx, the two inhalers, and some papers, and tosses them in a basket for Becca. I fill out the appropriate form for her and she gives me the scoop on how much this is going to cost. A lot, but less than the grocery store. I tell her that’s fine and assume that I can now sign and pay for them and leave.

Silly me. Now they’ll actually fill it (the inhalers are IN the basket) and it should only take about 20 more minutes.

Awesome.

I’m supposed to be leaving my house in 20 minutes and I haven’t even made it home yet. This is not looking so good. So Zach and I sit on a bench and I read more of my book. It’s my first Agatha Raisin novel and I think I’m beginning to enjoy it. We’ll see.

I did feel the need to apologize to Becca, as I came across a bit impatient flustered when she told me it would only be about another 20 minutes. She was gracious, forgiving me, and letting me know that it appeared the prescriptions were filled. Yippee.

Back to the “Pick Up Prescriptions Here” line to wait behind a couple of other people.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Not so sure I’ll make it to the service tonight.

At last. Our turn. Show the Costco card, sign the screen thingy, pay with the debit card, get the meds, and leave. Of course not. It couldn’t possibly be that easy or quick. It seems that a pharmacist would like to consult with Zach about his meds. Okay, fine.

Over to yet another window to wait for yet another turn. The very nice lady gave us the scoop and at last, we were free to leave. With filled prescriptions!

By the time we got home and I got my stuff ready, I would’ve been at least half an hour late for the Wednesday night service. Sooooo…I guess not. Looks like I’m staying home after all.

Perhaps I’ll read my book.

Creaky Eye

I was in the bathroom, washing off my eye makeup. While rinsing it off with a wet cotton round (makes me want to say “round what?”), my eye started creaking. Sort of like an old wooden rocking chair. Or floor in a house built in 1898. I stopped, looked at my eye, and did it again. It still creaked.

my eyesSo I promptly interrupted Zach’s online video gaming, making him remove his headphones and turn off his monitor, lest I see his highly secret game, and ask him to listen. I put my face down near his ear and rub my eye with the cotton again. It creaks again and yes, he can definitely hear it. He asked what it was and I said, “It’s my eye. It sounds like an old rocking chair.”

Then I said, “You’re welcome,” as I left his room.

This might have something to do with why my son thinks I’m weird.

Lassie, Come Home

Somehow my sister had the misfortune of being called Lassie when she was younger. Only by Mom and me. I think. It was her lovely, blonde, Farrah Fawcett hair, I suppose, which prompted thoughts of Lassie’s lovely, blonde, flowing hair, er… fur. It was all in fun, anyway. Not like we thought of my sister as a brave, brilliant dog, or anything. Cause we didn’t. And she’s not. A dog, that is.

In the fourth season, after the Millers acted as a foster family for a seven-year-old named Timmy for the summer, Gramps passed away. Ellen needed to be in the city where she could give music lessons and Jeff could attend high school. Knowing the city was no place for a big dog who was used to running free, Jeff left Lassie with Timmy. Courtesy of lassieweb.org

In the fourth season, after the Millers acted as a foster family for a seven-year-old named Timmy for the summer, Gramps passed away. Ellen needed to be in the city where she could give music lessons and Jeff could attend high school. Knowing the city was no place for a big dog who was used to running free, Jeff left Lassie with Timmy. Courtesy of lassieweb.org

One day she was at a friend’s house (we’ll call her Betsy*) and it would seem her friend knew about the Lassie moniker, because I called¬† Betsy’s house and a female voice answered. The female voice sounded like Betsy, so the following conversation ensued:

Me: Is Lassie there?

Allegedly Betsy: Who?

Me: Lassie

Supposedly Betsy: Cassie?

Me: No. Lassie.

Maybe Betsy: Who?

Me (realizing that perhaps this is NOT Betsy after all): Um, is Susan** there?

Not Betsy: Uh, yes, just a moment.

Fortunately for me we did not have Skype or FaceTime or any other such video phone devices since it was back in the dark ages and all. How incredibly embarrassing and ridiculous I sounded while speaking to Betsy’s mother who did not know that my sister was nicknamed after a dog.

 

* name changed to protect the innocent.

** name not changed as that’s my actual sister’s actual name, not her dog name.