Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself

This is so much easier to do when your neighbor is yourself.

I want Landon to have high self-esteem, but this is getting a little out of control. 
I will draw the line the second he starts giving the image in the mirror the wink and the gun. 

Hi, My Name is Debbie and I Have a Problem

Well, um...let's see. I guess it was around age 5 or 6. Amelia Bedelia. I saw the other kids reading in the library and I thought "they're doing it, so no big deal, right?". I figured a book about a misfit, simple-minded nanny with a ridiculous name couldn't possibly be too much for me. So I picked it up. I thought, "just this once. I just want to see what it's all about." But then there was Amelia Bedelia Goes Camping, Merry Christmas Amelia Bedelia and Come Back, Amelia Bedelia. Pretty soon I had read every Amelia Bedelia book there was and had even gotten one signed by the author (the kingpin). I thought, "no big deal. I can stop anytime." Little did I know that Amelia was just the beginning.

The gateway 

Pretty soon I found that I just wasn't as amused with Amelia's inane predicaments. I mean, really. How many times can a grown woman bake a date cake using a cut-up calendar? But I still needed that excitement, that thrill of a brand new story just waiting for me to turn its pages. That's when I found Felicity from the American Girl series. Felicity's colonial-era adventures were enthralling, educational and a little dangerous. I liked the way learning made me feel. I liked the person I was when I learned something. The thing about American Girl is that you can't just stop at one. After Felicity I found Samantha, Addy, Kirsten and Molly (my favorite). By this time I found that books were beginning to take over my life. I played with my Felicity and Molly dolls during the day, dressing them in different period-appropriate outfits (cotton dress and bonnet for 18th century Felicity, plaid sweaters and mary-janes for 40's Molly) and devoured their stories at night. My parents didn't know, but there were quite a few nights that I stayed up hours past my bedtime just to read a little longer, find out a little more. Every page was supposed to be my last one.

Come on Debbie, everybody's doing it

From then on I dabbled in a little Babysitter's Club here, a little Beverly Cleary there. All the while thinking that I was totally in control and that I once I got older I would just grow out of this phase. But around the time I hit my teen years my sister introduced me to the world of World War II literature. Ambrose, Brokaw, Pellegrino, I couldn't get enough. I had filled myself with such a vast amount of information that there was no turning back now. No more going back to my days of innocence. I was in it.


I spent the last part of high school in a dizzying haze of classical Russian literature and religious books. Some times I read, sometimes I didn't - the ebb and flow of addiction. College was a bastion for my obsession, though. The second I stepped foot on campus, learning surrounded me. Undergrads, grad students, law students, professors, discussing, debating, lecturing, cross referencing. I devoured it all. No matter how late I stayed up with friends, I always had to end my night with a little bit of something - I couldn't sleep unless my eyes had glanced across a page, taken in another line. It was now a part of me, something that I knew I couldn't shed even if I wanted because that would be like asking me to leave behind my arm and be happy about it.


By the time I got married, things had calmed down a bit. I guess I was distracted by my new stage in life and all the changes that accompanied it. I was holding down a job, making friends, going out at night. Okay, not really going out at night. But I could have. But after a year or so I felt like something was missing and my old friend was there to greet me - the library. Soon I was going to work bleary-eyed and droopy-tailed from a late night. My husband, now apathetic, got used to falling asleep with the light on. Quantity took place of quality. I didn't care what it was I read, as long as I read. Twilight, Leon Uris, Harry Potter, Markus Zuzak, the back of the cereal box. It didn't matter. As long as it had writing, I would read it.

Did you know there are four species of Puffins? Just something I learned from this trove of knowledge

I finally hit rock bottom after I had my son. Staying home left me a little more time to read and it was actually socially acceptable for me to take a child to the library so there was really no excuse. I tried to limit myself by placing a book on reserve, thinking the whole time that I would go to the library, pick up that one book and leave. But the second I stepped foot in that literary lair I couldn't help but be drawn to all the possibilities around me. The story of North Korean emigrants here, the tale of a young Jewish boy in the 70's over there, a Russian girl's memoir on the shelf in front of me. They called my name. I had to listen.

A little Woodstock-y, don't you think?

So that's how I got here. To the point where reading has almost lost a sense of joy because I read one book only to feel the need to rush through it in order to get to the next. I feel numb to everyday life unless it has a moral meaning or clever twist. Which, fortunately, it usually does.


I guess my biggest fear is that my son will make my same mistakes. I don't want him to wake up one day to find that that his eyes are blood shot, his fingers are marred by paper cuts and his skin is pasty white because he's been too busy reading to go outside. Plus, he really has to pee because he also forgot to go to the bathroom while he was on the last chapter of Ender's Game.


But my biggest fear of all is that I'm too late.

How We Know Mormons Have Too Many Meetings

Because there is actually a market for a product like this:

For the narcoleptic righteous man in your life : www.pillowtie.com

I love the entrepreneurial spirit. No one said they had to be good ideas.  

There Are So Many Other Things I Should Be Doing...

Like,

1. Finishing the article I am writing for Columbus Parent Magazine. That's what I originally opened my laptop to do. 1 1/2 hours later and I have not even opened my word file. Dang you Mental Floss and your addictive array of useless information!

2. Going to bed. It is almost 10 pm and Tyler and I have the night habits of 80 year olds. But Tyler's working tonight so I'm going to party it up. Maybe stay up until 10:30. Maybe I won't even floss tonight. That's right - You heard me.

3. Putting all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. But the way they are piled up is such a feat of physics that I don't want to disturb it.

4. Figuring out how to spell physics. It took me at least 5 times to get from psychics to phsyics to pjysics (slip of the finger) back to psychics and then to physics.

5. Thinking about all the funny words that start with ph. Phalanges, phalanx, phlebotomy, phlox, philatrics. This really isn't something that I should be doing, it's just a natural progression.

6. Admitting that I made that last ph word up. It sounded right so I went with it.

7. Getting new hobbies rather than sitting here looking stuff up on the internet (like philatrics).

8. Thinking of ways to bring about world peace.

9. Becoming emboldened by my world peace plan and begin writing Obama to tell him about the ideas that will change the world.

10. Looking up "Obama personal email" on the internet.

11. Finding words such as philanthropist and philanderer (interesting juxtaposition don't you think).

12. Getting distracted and abandoning plan.

13. Wondering if a pharmacist ever used philodendron to ease the pharyngeal reflex.

14. Deciding that of all my talents, procrastination may be one of my finest.

Somewhere Barney Weeps

To buy me a couple of minutes to get some important things done around the house (like sit on the couch and do absolutely nothing) I rented a couple of DVD’s from the library for Landon to watch. Recently we were on a trip in my sister in law’s car and Landon was riveted by the Baby Einstein® (ha-HA! No copyright infringement here!) DVD’s the kids were watching. I was hoping to repeat this experience at home with me as the beneficiary. And it’s worked, except not in the way I thought it would.

Today I put on Veggie Tales Do the Moo Shoo Sing Along and in the beginning Landon started to dance to the music – and by dance I mean he stuck his little bum out and started jerk-hopping on his tippy-toes. Very similar to how he looks when he poops – but after a minute or two he went right back to his toys and would only occasionally look up again at the screen.

I, on the other hand, was intrigued (I was sitting on the couch doing nothing anyway). The only thing I knew previously about Veggie Tales was that they did something with Bible stories. But as I watched, I saw a cucumber singing “On the day I got my tooth/ I had to kiss my Great Aunt Ruth/ She had a beard/ And it felt weird”. I don’t remember that Bible story anywhere. Maybe it’s apocryphal. It didn’t matter – I was hooked. I ended up watching the whole DVD while Landon couldn’t care less and played with a lighter (ha ha! Just seeing if you were reading. I promise. Really).

Kid’s entertainment has become so sophisticated these days, possibly to the detriment of the kids, but definitely to the benefit of the parents (aren’t we a part of the “me” generation anyway? Now here’s a trophy just for being you). I bet it’s because the people making kid’s shows these days remember watching Barney and Teletubbies when they were younger and were like “there’s no way I’m subjecting myself to that crap a second time around”. Along with interjecting wry humor, there’s even some satirical political and social commentary, such as this proletariat anthem:

I wonder if all this adult-laced kid’s humor will create a new breed of child, one who takes his juice straight and can’t start his day unless he’s read the Wall Street Journal – Illustrated Edition on his smart phone. Instead of the usual playground banter about being a poo-poo head and sissy, kids will charge the classroom bully with being Hawkish and call the kid who can’t share an Elitist. And Glenn Beck if they’re really mad.

I’m not sure that I want our children's childhood to be tossed aside so quickly in favor of the real world. I think I would rather have them retain some innocence and ignorance. Maybe Barney and his creepy I love you/You love me motto is the best way to go. But to be honest, right now I’m having too much fun watching Veggie Tales and Landon’s poop dance to worry.

Merry Christmas! Now Go Take Your Meds

It may only be September but the holidays are already peeking at us from around the corner.

Instead of combing the stores at the last minute for that one-of-a-kind gift (think oversize Hulk boxing gloves, or - if America's Funniest Home Videos have taught me anything - a hilarious fake lottery ticket), how about giving your loved one something truly from your heart: a stuffed friend with a psychiatric disorder.

Because, in the wee hours of the night, who doesn't want to cuddle up next to a hallucinating snake?

I'm going to give the crocodile to my mom (love, your concerned daughter).

The Unexplainables

I had one of those experiences today that was just so incredibly ridiculous there are no words to properly capture its utter absurdity. It was one of those times when you’re looking around to see if anyone (ANYONE!) is seeing what you’re seeing right now because it’s hilarious/horrifying/unbelievable. You are so desperate to find someone to share this moment with because you know that you will never be able to explain it.

So I won’t.

But that did get me thinking (surprise!) about all sorts of other things that I just could not explain – either because words are insufficient or because there’s just no darn good reason. I have compiled my thoughts into a list for your perusing pleasure:

1. My father & drive thru windows. Now, my father is a great man but why would a successful attorney have a complete and irrational aversion to the drive thru window? Not that this would stop him from using the drive thru – oh no! Instead, he would have me lean over from the passenger seat to shout out his order through the driver side window (UM, YEAH. BIG MAC WITH MEDIUM what? Large? Okay LARGE FRY AND A VANILLA SHAKE huh? Chocolate? You told me vanilla. Okay, fine, fine MAKE THAT A CHOCOLATE. NO I SAID CHOCOLATE. HOLD ON, LET ME UNBUCKLE MY SEATBELT TO LEAN CLOSER). I guess it just shows how much I love my dad. Or how much of an enabler I was.

2. My love for ABC Family movies (Bring it On 14? HECK YES!)

3. Miley Cyrus songs

4. Latin America’s adoration for all things Jean Claude Van Damme

5. How my son got to be so ridiculously cute – I know he’s mine. I was there.

6. Peanut Butter, Butter & Jelly sandwiches. What, you say? Who would put such a disgusting combination together? Everyone – meet my mother. Mother – meet everyone.

7. Anything Lil’ Wayne says

8. Dry clean only baby clothes

9. A world where Heidi Montag is a pseudo-celebrity

10. Jeggings (aka Jean Leggings) – Because trying to squeeze into skinny jeans doesn’t make us feel bad about ourselves enough. Although my friend Kristie can totally pull these off. I would be totally jealous if I didn't like her so much. But since I do, I call it friendvy (friendly envy). Check out her Style Blog here.

11. My uncanny knowledge of 90’s pop culture trivia, emphasis in Saved By the Bell

12. Why it’s only the most annoying songs that get stuck in your head (you spin me right round baby right round. Ha! Good luck getting rid of that one!).

13. Why I am sitting here writing this list even though my house is a mess, I am still in my workout clothes hours after working out and my son’s diaper is so full that he looks like the inspiration for General Larry Platte’s hit song “Pants on the Ground”.

I guess some thinks are just better left unexplained.