JustRunJustLiveJustBe

My nephew turns two-years-old this week.  And while my mother thought buying the entire state of Colorado and sending it to him would suffice as an appropriate gift, I had a little more trouble deciding.  I’d gone the bike tricycle route for Christmas, which was fun, and the swimming/pool gear for some other recent holiday,  (yes, I am that aunt)  so I was pretty much running out of big ideas.   You see, I buy the clothes and the cute stuff and the toys when necessary, but everyone does that.  And I’m just not that kind of gift giver, at least not when I can help it.

I think I had a dream or watched Oprah or something one day when I was about eighteen, but for whatever reason I got this idea in my head that it’s so much more fun to give experiences rather than things.  (See: golf lessons, home brew kits, concert tickets, etc.)  Ideally, the Pollyanna side of me likes to think that memories far outlast anything I could wrap up neatly with a bow.  Not that I don’t like the shiny and the new, but that really wasn’t going to apply here.

What kind of experience or memory can possibly be given to a two-year-old?  Everything is new and interesting at that point, which is both a blessing and a challenge.  I love giving books, but again, he’s two.  And with already having the entire state of Colorado, you can be certain there were books in there.  While there are books I know he has, and ones I believe he should receive as he gets older, there was nothing I could think of for right now.  I was getting nowhere.

Then I remembered the best part of being a two-year-old:  anything can be new and fun.  And then I remembered the best part of being an aunt:  I don’t clean up the mess.

So I concentrated on the packaging of the gifts instead, and my sister will no doubt thank me profusely for months to come.

Oh, there is really so much more than these photos reveal. There are parts of that box my sister will still be finding when this kid turns three… or twenty.  But we can’t go ruining the surprise on the internet. 

Happy Birthday, Ivan.

My mom:  I have to ask you a computer question.

Me: Okay.

Mom:  Your cousin was over the other night to help me and left this weird thing in my computer.

Me:  Okaaaaayyyy…

Mom:  Well what is it?

Me:  Uh, I’m going to need a little more detail.

Mom:  Well you know where your computer has those plug in thingies and then there is a cord, and you could also put other cords there, and one goes around the back but not all do, well there is this thing he put there and it’s still there.  Do I need it?  Do I want it?  What does it do?  What does it have in it?  What is it?

Me:  I have no idea what you just said.

Mom:  Well I just don’t know what it is. I want to know what it is. 

Me:  Describe it better.

Mom:  Well it kind of looks like a lighter.  What goes in a computer that looks like a lighter?

Me:  [head hurting… thinking of many punchlines… looks like a duck, walks like a duck…]

Mom:  Hello?

Me: I think he was just loading something on your computer.  That’s all it is… there’s software on it and he was putting it on the machine.

Mom:  Well why didn’t you just say that?!

There are times I really appreciate living alone. Like, say, the last 15 weeks when I’ve come home from work only to work more. That’s when it’s nice to be alone– when I need quiet and calm. Doing whatever I want, however I want. A week ago I was at a friend’s for dinner and trying to help clean up when her husband kindly came over to the dishwasher and asked me to step away, because “that is not how it’s supposed to be loaded.”* Yeah, right about then I was glad to live alone.

Other times, though, I don’t like it at all. The truth is, I love a busy house. I love when I’m in one room and people I love are sleeping in the next room. I love doors opening and closing, noise, and a constant shuffle. I never grew up with that, but I did go to those houses. Those homes of friends that were hang-out central, where we’d watch movies all day on a snow day, where their brother’s band would practice in the garage. There was always movement, laughter, food. It always made me feel good. Laying stretched out on carpeted basement floors watching football or 90210 (ha), playing Super Nintendo (ha ha), and just being together. I like being together.

That’s when it’s tough. Nights when I’m too lazy to cook, when it’s so quiet I can hear the clock tick and the chimes outside blowing in the wind, it’s those nights when I’d like to have that full house. When I need to have it. I need to watch things happening, to witness the shuffling around, to hear the screen door open and close and feel a part of it all.

I think it’s inevitable that I’ll have that house one day. Until then, considering I spent an hour on the treadmill last night singing Dolly Parton songs at the top of my lungs, it’s probably a good thing I’m not there just yet.

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* For the record, I will never complain about someone else doing the dishes, and I do not understand people who do.

It’s probably because winter was so dark and dreary that I’m so thrilled it’s over. No, it’s probably because it was so cold. Yes, that’s it. Cold. Or maybe it’s because it made me complain all the time. But we should all forget about that, and I’ll be really immature and illogical and act like it’ll never be back. Because spring is here! Spring! Warm! Sunny! Won’t-kill-me spring!

Yes, I know it’s nearly summer (woo! hold on, I can barely type the word without crying happy tears) and some people have been basking in 70, 80, and 90+ degree glory for a while now, but NOT ME. This time 10 days ago, it snowed. I cried the bad kind of tears that day. That day I would have been thankful for any sign of spring, any sign at all.

Yes, a dandelion would have made me happy.

But I don’t worry about that now. Now, not only do we have dandelions enough so that every mother in my neighborhood could have received a fistful yesterday, we have a whole lot more!

Flowers! Buds! And trees! Color! It’s everywhere.

Everywhere!

Mind if I keep going? I didn’t think so.

But wait! There’s more!

I know, I know. This is going to get annoying… but I can’t help myself. I love it. I do not say that lightly. I love it. So much.

So much, in fact, that I would kiss the flowers and the trees and the buds. You know what, even with the neighbors watching. Yep, I would make out with ground cover.  And like it.

That is all.

So now that I’ve got a little more free time on my hands, I’ve discovered something very interesting: I need a life again. Yes, while I kept up on running and hiking and lunch dates, and oh, even some good flirting and beer frappacino drinking, it still appears as though my evenings were mostly about sitting in front of a computer screen trying to come up with enough non-boring words to fill a space. And no, I’m not even talking about writing on this site.

After I celebrated on Monday and reveled in do-nothing glory on Tuesday, Wednesday loomed and I found myself thinking wow, woman, you are boring. And in a serendipitous moment, like perhaps when you meet the love of your life or manage to wear matching socks, my phone rang. It was a friend in a babysitter pinch wanting to know if I had a couple free hours for her girls. Well! Did I!

She dropped them off and I was all ready for some kid fun, and by that I mean macaroni and cheese and letting them go through my closet and try on all fifty-seven pairs of flip flops. (See, they all really can be used at once!) After we finished with that fun—and I came to the realization that all summer I’m going to be wearing one JCrew and one Reef because where on Earth are the rest of the shoes, girls—we hit the linen closet. There we went through all the seventeen thousand forty-nine cosmetic bags/cases/boxes I own and I let them each pick one to take home. They squealed, I squealed, it was magical.

I always love being the “fun aunt.” I’m the one that bears gifts and plays music too loud and lets them be messy with food. I am comfortable with this role. In fact, I take pride in it. It’s almost a challenge for me that when I get to hang out with these girls that we must always have fun. Barring any major risk or bad manners*, nothing “parent-y” is allowed.

So when their mother called to let me know she was on her way, we went to gather their things and pack up the huge production that is leaving the house with a three-year-old and five-year-old. It’s pretty chilly here at night yet, so I made sure they put on their sweaters. While I’m buttoning the sweater of the three-year-old, the five year old walks over to the front door, swings it wide open, opens the screen door and looks outside for her mother. And before I can even comprehend what I’m saying, these words just flew right out of my mouth: “Let’s not leave the door wide open, honey. We don’t need to give heat to the entire neighborhood.”

And then I said goodbye and went to put in my pink foam hair rollers.

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*Yes, manners. I am all about the polite and courteous fun.

I really have so much to say and, yet, not yet time enough to say it.  Or, in some cases, it is not yet time to say it.   Make sense?  Good.But I was tagged not too long ago by Jacinta on her blog, One Little Acorn.  In my mind, Jacinta is lovely and charming and very exotic.  She lives in

1. Why did you start your blog?

I felt like I had a lot of words and ideas running around in my head and thought it would be a good idea to get them out.  You know, to settle me a little.  Obviously it totally worked.

2. How did you come up with your blog name?
 I like to run.  A lot. I have a pretty firm grasp on that.  Less so on  JustLive and JustBe, but I can’t seem to stop trying to get there.

3. Do your friends and family know about your blog? What do they think about it? 

Yes, mostly.  Over the last three years more and more. They don’t think much of it, except maybe that I’m weird which is nothing different than than the twenty-five years before I started this site.

4. How do you write posts?

Usually in one shot, usually not more than a day ahead of time, and usually I revise and rearrange way too much, which is, arguably, not obvious anyway.

5. Have you ever had a troll or had to delete unkind comments?

Yes, but usually they take it upon themselves to email me privately.  Because these people obviously have super-strong backbones and tons of integrity.

6. Do you check your stats? Do you care how many people read your blog? If you do care, how to you increase traffic?
 

I never even put a Site Meter on my old Blogspot site.  This site’s host now lets me see all kinds of statistics and summaries and reports and sometimes I even remember to look at them.  Hello to all of you not commenting!  Love and hugs!

 7. What kind of blogs/posts interest you?

All kinds.  Especially those involving embarassing stories that make me feel like less of a nerd.  Yes, how selfish of me.

8. What do you like and dislike about blogging?

So far, so good.  Except having to moderate spam comments.  That bites. 

I can never seem to tag anyone with a meme.  Instead I tag you all to go to the beach, or  to sing at the top of your lungs in the shower.  Or maybe, if possible, both. 

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**Woah, no idea what happened to the text here.  Technology defeats me again.** 

“So do people tend to make noises during this?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

“Well, I’ve been seeing you for years and never have, so I just wondered.  But today might just be the day.”

“Well, feel free.  It’s totally normal.”

“Like borderline inappropriate normal?”

So went my conversation with my massage therapist yesterday afternoon.  Because post-final class but pre-margarita, I’d scheduled a “reward massage.”  Why I feel the need to call it a reward, I don’t know.  Why I feel the need for a reward at all may seem a little much, but dang if it didn’t feel good just the same.

Over the last fifteen weeks, any time I’ve told anyone what I’ve taken on with school they think I’m insane.  I get strange looks from people, shocked that I’m still standing at all. People that went through medical residencies and intense MBA programs, and went back to school after they had kids are calling me crazy.  They could be right.  That would certainly explain how yesterday, after that last final, I sent everyone I know (and even many I don’t know) messages saying “This señorita is having a margarita.”  Crazy it is.

But last year, when I started all this, a strange thing happened: I felt like it was right.  Suddenly, the thought of a goal and the end game became more important than any thing else.  More important than doubts and fear. I was more excited about it than anything I’d considered in the past, and the weird thing was, the motivation came from me.  Only me.  Sure there is support and encouragement, but at the end of the day taking on a massive amount of work seemed completely possible in my mind.  Which, I think, is what I’d waited for all along.

It probably is going to drive me crazy. Of course other things will be pushed aside.  OF COURSE I don’t know what’s going to happen when I’m finished.  But if what remains feels anything like what’s already been done, I’ll be glad to keep going.  And as each part comes to an end, I’ll be glad to celebrate it.