B, S, and Z, if you are anything like me, some day you will want to know what your mama and papa were like when they were young.... young like we ARE right now. (Shut up, readers!)
So, I was gonna tell you, and I realized I couldn't think of anything to say, except to tell you what we DO.
Here goes, from morning to night on a typical day, when Papa isn't working:
We walk into the bathroom, we look into the mirror, Papa has to prop his left eye open with a toothpick (practically). Mama’s eyes are crossed, because both of us went to bed too late last night. We were probably reading a book until close to 2 am. (I read funny novels and memoirs about crazy people, and your papa reads theology and books about Alice in Wonderland.) Anyway, it is morning, and I make some sarcastic remark about how Papa "forgot" to do his hair. He ends up slopping some waxy stuff in it and calling it good. I am mostly satisfied.
We both eat cold cereal (with really thick milk, because the doc says you punks need whole milk till you are 3 years old).
Finally, we all get dressed, and take you somewhere fun, (the museum, the beach, the park, the local gardens, out to ice-cream, the store, anywhere but home) because despite the elation YOU feel about stacking blocks and doing puzzles, Papa and I would go crazy just sitting in the house all day
What else should I say? How 'bout random stuff?
I have to poop, always, without fail, every time I have to be in front of a crowd. This particular "need" almost always makes me late to whatever important event I am attending, such as my final exam in speech class and my wedding. I get a rash all over my neck and chest when I am in front of a bunch of people. (I have learned to wear a turtleneck....I have a short-sleeved turtleneck for summer. I'm not kidding. No, I did not wear a turtleneck in our wedding.) Papa is fine with speaking and being in front of people.
I love being busy and I love people. I take the three of you to a friend's house or we go out with friends almost every day. Sometimes twice a day.
Yet, I hate entertaining people. I don't like having people over, because I feel like I am responsible if they are not having a good time. I can't take that pressure. I hate one-on-one (probably for the same reason), sometimes even with my closest friends. I do better in big groups. Papa thrives on one-on-one.
My newest haircut makes me think I should be wearing one of those collared screen-printed sweatshirts...the kind with a schoolhouse on them (or a small, furry kitten). I'm sorry if those things have come back full circle in the 2030s (or whenever you are reading this) and you have one on right now. They remind me too much of my excessively wrinkly Sunday school teacher. The one with the flannel boards. If you are over 50, they might look glorious on you. Otherwise, take it off before you read any further.
When my life feels out of control, I care more about stupid stuff, like if my house is clean and if my hair is cute. Papa only cares about his hair and clothes when life is going smoothly (not right now).
I used to think I was mentally-impaired and that people didn't want to tell me the truth about myself. I used to make my mom promise I was “normal” at least once per week. Papa still thinks he is impaired, although he blames his crazy teenage experiences. :)
Both Papa and I will eat almost anything. We went to a banquet the other night, and looked up only after we had finished everything on our plates, to notice the mostly-full plates of the people surrounding us. Apparently, the chicken was dry and the potatoes were too garlicky. The rolls were too hard, and the veggies were soggy.
I was just glad I wasn't cooking. K and I eat more because it is food, I think, and less because of how things taste, (unless that something is cheesecake).
Also, I am reminding myself of my Grandma Owen a little bit, calling my husband Papa and all, but you know what I mean. He's Papa to you. To me, he is, um, funny, smart, sometimes witty (okay, not so much), and really, really nice.
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