Validation - Mother's Day Style

I'm not sure if this has ever come across in my blog but I don't have the babies.

 

(And my father rejoiced...)

 

However, I do have a mother!  And a super neat one at that.

 

 I get fantastic e-mails from her that say things like this:

"Are you sure you want to come back here? They may be hicks in NC but I bet they don’t crap on the floor at Harris-Teeter."

Other times, I get cards in the mail saying things like this:

"I don't remember ordering hot pink note cards with my name on them.  Maybe there were a gift, or I've had a stroke."

And on this very special Mother's Day, I have an extra-special present for her.

Friday morning, I received a phone call from one of my professors, who also happens to be the head of the Marriage and Family Therapy department where I study.

He was calling me regarding an e-mail I had sent him, asking for help finding an internship.  By the end of the discussion, my professor said, "This is really quite easy, but you're actually making it a lot harder than it has to be."

My mom has been saying that to me for years.  And now, Mom, you've heard it from a mental health professional.

You were right.  I was wrong.

I love you!  Happy Mother's Day!

Ten hours in a Honda

I received an e-mail from my mom with these pictures.

I think they kind of sum up how I go through life:










Tomorrow morning, I'm leaving for Indiana and cow poop.

And since I'll be in the car for 10 hours all by myself, I can fart all I want.

Is there a learning curve?

Recently, I discovered some new reading material.

Christina at Too Pretty For This posed a question to her readers and then to me individually:

What stories have shaped you?

I recommend reading her story first because it'll make more sense and, well, it's a good story.

Here's mine:

I was blessed/cursed with very thick, straight hair, and a butt-load of it. So, naturally I wished for curly hair.

When I was about 10, I started asking my mom to let me get a perm.

My poor mother (bless her heart) tried very hard to explain to me that if I got a perm, my hair wouldn't look like the other girls' due to the sheer mass of it. But, I would have none of it.

I begged, whined and pleaded (which rarely went over well in my family). I believe my mother decided that I just needed to learn this one for myself. So, she let me do it.

Oh, the humanity.

I'd love to tell you that, similar to Ron Burgundy, I immediately regretted that decision. I did not.

In fact, after it grew out and a few more years passed, I DID IT AGAIN.

This horrific tale depicts a few of my characteristics better than any other-

1. You can't tell me. I have to do it myself.
2. I don't always learn the first time. In fact, I often have to hose myself several times before I get it.
3. If you tell me not to do something, not only will I do it, but I'll do it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart... even if it means looking like this...
   

...TWICE.

My parents are swell

My parents have been in Michigan for the last few days. This afternoon, I received an e-mail from my mother that almost brought tears to my eyes. It was so moving, I thought I had best share it with all of you.


"...And guess where we stopped in Muskegon on the way home? Hint: It is a PIE COMPANY that is Grand. Got a little something in the back seat as a souvenir that has cherries and a crumb topping.....:-)"


God bless us! Everyone!

Honestly, that sounds like a personal problem

I think perhaps I'm a little late in the game, but I've recently discovered a website that consumes more of my time (and my paycheck) than anything else.

Many of you (in fact, most of you) are probably familiar with etsy.com, but for those of you who have yet to be formally introduced, allow me that pleasure.

Etsy is a magical place where you can find almost anything you need for every day life. The beauty of it is that it's all handmade. (My mom, bless her heart, called it "Icky" for the longest time because she couldn't remember the name.)

I actually stumbled upon Etsy by accident. I was browsing the world wide interweb for some Mother's Day gift ideas. I'm not really sure how, but I came across this wonderful thing called a Butt Freckle. I knew instantly that I had found the perfect present!

I mean, how can you not love this?


Don't understand what it is? Neither did I. It doesn't matter. It's adorable!

Anyway, once I had purchased this Butt Freckle, I started perusing the website a little more. I It didn't take long for me to realize I was hooked, for almost immediately, I found... the purses.

God help me, I do love a good purse.

Also, recently I've been trying to ween myself from leather and animal products. Eating them seems better than wearing them for some reason. So, this website is perfect for me because I can browse hundreds of fantastic purses with not a bit of animal product and it doesn't feel like a sacrifice (with boots, it's a completely different story).

This website is also fantastic if you're trying to be kinder to the environment. I'll admit it. I'm a big, fat tree-hugger. If you are too, then I recommend these reusable sandwich bags by SnakSaks. They're perfect if you're brown bagging it at work or if you pack your kids' lunches every day. And they are, of course, super cute.

In conclusion, if you've not yet visited Etsy, I urge you to do so.

And hey, it's rough out there. Try to be a Butt Freckle to someone you know.

A Mother's Day List

This is a short list of just a few reasons why I not only love my mom, but why I like her.

1. One of her favorite movies is Dodgeball.
2. In grade school, she would write funny notes on my napkins and put them in my lunch.
3. She never wears tapered pants.
4. She falls down a lot (seriously, I mean a lot).
5. Any time she turns on the TV and sees Ocean's Eleven, she will sit down and watch it.
6. The only time she really swears is when she drops something.
7. I gave her something called a Butt Freckle for Mother's Day and she loved it!
8. When we watch Jeopardy, she yells "Monkeys!" for every question she doesn't know.
9. She votes for the underdog.
10. She never uses shortened versions for the word "pregnant", like preggy, preggers or prego.

I love you, Mama! You're my favorite!

Oh, Mr. Bones, that's terrible.

Yesterday, my mom and I went to a musical, sort of.

Okay, I need to preface this story with some background information.

My whole family is musically inclined in one way or another. We all sing, my dad plays organ and piano and my brother pretty much plays everything. We all like going to live shows and performances, although my dad tends to favor Gilbert and Sullivan while my brother prefers bands of which I've never heard.

So, when my mom told me she got tickets for the touring show of Ain't Misbehavin', I was pretty excited. I'd never seen it before and it featured Ruben Studdard, Frenchie Davis and Trenyce Cobbins from American Idol. What's not to like?

Anyway, my mom and I showed up to the theater last night, both ready to enjoy an evening of song, dance and general frivolity.

We both got settled in our seats, turned off our phones and opened our programs. I flipped to the listing of songs in each act.

My jaw dropped.

There were fifteen songs in the first Act. The conversation that followed between my mom and I probably sounded fairly normal to those sitting nearby, but for us, it had a completely different meaning:


What we said...

Sara: I didn't realize this show had so many songs.
Mom: Yeah, both acts look pretty long.
Sara: Isn't 30 Rock on at 9:30?
Mom: Oh, right. We're probably going to miss it.
Sara: Yeah, probably. Hey, I think we can move closer at intermission.
Mom: I'll bet you're right.

What we meant...

Sara: Oh, dear God. Did you realize how long this thing is?
Mom: I can't sit through this whole thing.
Sara: I am not missing 30 Rock.
Mom: Pfft, me neither!
Sara: Let's leave at half-time.
Mom: Two steps ahead of you.


What's funny is that it wasn't a bad show (well, what we saw of it). All the performers were quite good and easy to listen to. It wasn't that long, either. The first act was probably 45 minutes. It made no difference. Our attention spans were already shot.

Several times during the first act, one of us would lean over to the other and make a deep, philosophical observation about the show.

Mom: I was thinking about France for most of that song.
Sara: That's so weird because I was thinking about this French song I'm working on for my voice lessons!

...and then later...

Mom: Wanna get breakfast at Panera tomorrow?
Sara: Do I?!

...and then at half-time...

Sara: Maybe we should "walk around the lobby".
Mom: Good idea.

I would love to say that this is the first time something like this has ever happened (or that it will never happen again), but I'd be reserving my seat in Hades, right next to Pinocchio and Richard Nixon.

On a completely separate note, my good friend and fellow blogger, Lisa, has a brand new blog! It's called The Blonde Blogette and it's all about movies, music, pop culture and just about any other form of entertainment you can think of. She Facebooks, she Twitters, she blogs... she does it all!

On another, but final, completely separate note, it's disgustingly gorgeous outside. It's all I can do not to run outside and perform an interpretive ribbon dance to Miley Cyrus's "It's the Climb".

Oh, come on. You just wish you'd thought of it first.

The jig is up

Only moments ago, I bit it in front of the UPS guy.

I like to pretend that I'm graceful, classy and at times, elegant. Upon first introduction, I can even fool some people into believing I am all these things. It is, however, short-lived, for no matter what I do, I will out myself at some point.

For whatever reason, I was not born with a great deal of balance. How did I learn this? Well, it became pretty evident when I made it past 20 and continued to fall, trip, slip or simply lose my balance when merely standing up.

In this particular instance, I was heading into the mail room. The UPS guy walked out as I was walking in. He managed to complete this task relatively unscathed. Unfortunately, I tripped (I still don't know on what), completely lost my balance, fell into the wall, hit my shin on a box and probably said a fair amount of colorful words in the process. (This was the kind of fall where you're so out of control that your limbs are flailing willy-nilly and the whole thing seems to last 7 hours, rather than 4 seconds.)

Before I managed to right myself again, I was praying that Mr. UPS had already exited the building, or at least the general area. I looked back and saw that he was still standing in the doorway, but the second our eyes met, he had the decency to get the flip out of there. I'm sure he was just being polite and making sure I hadn't completely taken myself out, but sometimes chivalry takes the form of pretending something never happened.

It does come as some comfort to know that I come by this equilibrium deficiency honestly. My mom, bless her peaked, little heart, falls down more than anyone I know. It would actually be quite funny if she didn't tend to break or fracture one of her ankles EVERY SINGLE TIME. She even fell down the steps at Rockefeller Center. She broke her ankle but had no idea, so she and my dad continued their sight-seeing. Oh, Mama...

I do wish that I could manage to fall like girls do in the movies. (Well, except for Molly Shannon in Superstar.) It always happens in slow motion and involves one single movement where she basically floats down to the ground. Also, when a girl falls off a ladder or slips, it's because she was sabotaged, and everyone knows it. Or, it's just the preamble to a terribly romantic and heroic rescue by Jordan McSix-Pack. While I don't necessarily need the romance of being caught, I would love for someone to intervene before I do a full on face plant (or flace pant).

It's not that I really mind being an uncoordinated twit. I've had a while to get used to it and more often than not, I can embrace it. I can laugh at myself when I trip over an imaginary pebble on the sidewalk or if I walk into a glass door at Disney World (never happened). I'm mostly able to laugh in these situations because when I see other people do it, it's hilarious. So, it does make me a little happy knowing that my clumsiness may have brought someone else joy.

It really blows, though, to do this in front of a stranger... especially an attractive stranger. I don't know why but that always makes it worse. Considering it's a stranger, I really shouldn't care whether he or she (it goes both ways, as I will explain momentarily) is attractive. For all I know, this person is a massive tool.

With an attractive male (for the heterosexual female variety), this is damn near mortifying. I think, generally speaking, women still like men to see them as being very feminine upon first meeting (after we've gotten to know each other, I don't much give a rat's ass). Stereotypically, part of being feminine is being graceful and having the ability to walk in a straight line without tripping over your own feet. When that facade is rudely snatched from you before you're ready to let it go, it's rather embarrassing.

In front of an attractive female (for most females regardless of orientation), I think it's all in our heads. When I do something klutzy in front of another woman, I am positive that she is judging the tar-fire out of me. She could be thinking anything from "Where does she get off thinking she can pull off 4-inch heels? No wonder she scored so low on the math portion of the SATs" to "Wow, anyone who falls down like that couldn't possibly have a successful personal life. I should shoot her a look full of condescension to best exemplify my pity for her".

Again, chances are all she's thinking is, "That sucks", because that's generally what I'm thinking, but I prefer to project my own insecurities on this fictitious person so I have a place to direct my anger and frustration. It's a lot more fun that way, don't you think?

On the upside, I like to think that since I've already had my major spill for the day, I am far less likely to do it again or involve others in my calamities. What's that? It's raining? You're all on your own, kids.

Where are my big girl pants?

For the last 12 months, my poor parents have put up with quite a bit.




August 2007, I graduated from Indiana University with absolutely no plan of any kind. In October, I found a month-long TEFL course (teaching English as a foreign language) in Denver and decided that would be my new plan. After completing it and receiving my CELTA certificate (I'd be lying if I said I knew what that stands for), I announced that I would be traveling to Poland to begin my new teaching adventures. Perhaps a month later, I changed my mind and announced that I'd be going to China instead! So, in March 2008, I hopped a plane and headed to Qingdao to live with my super-neat friend, Sonya.



After three months of all sorts of tomfoolery in China, I decided it was the wrong time and wrong place to be there (and I was getting kicked out of the country anyway because of visa and Olympic details). So, back to Indiana! I spent the better part of the summer sitting on my parents' couch with my laptop, looking for TEFL jobs in Europe. I was getting close to giving up when one day, a friend from work put me in touch with someone named Kelly. Kelly was an au pair for a Dutch/American family in the Netherlands and was looking for someone to replace her when her time was up in September. After talking to Kelly at length and Skyping with her host mom, I decided I would take over for her as an au pair!



After only a month and a half in Holland, I decided I needed to get the frick out of that house or I'd be a mere shell of a woman in no time at all. For now, let's just say that the differences between this household and my own are infinite. So, I'm still in the Netherlands right now, with 5 days to go before I can get on that blessed plane and return to the magical land of Chick-Fil-A and economic recession and squirrels. Seriously, there are no squirrels here.

Things I will miss from the Netherlands:

1. Mars bars - if anyone can find those in the US, please tell me where!
2. Recycling/Environmental concern
3. Glaring at pedestrians and drivers for even thinking of getting in front of me on my bike
4. Cafes and year-round patio dining
5. Train travel
6. Pancakes, pie and poffertjes (tiny pancakes)
7. The cheese... oh God, the cheese
8. CNN

Things I will not miss from the Netherlands:

1. Crappy weather
2. Dutch "manners" (or lack thereof)
3. The stairs - my room is on the third floor
4. The smoking - everybody smokes here
5. Old people cutting in front of me at the grocery store
6. Grocery store cashiers rolling their eyes at me when I hand them a €50
7. Microwaving my bread when I want a sandwich
8. Sinterklaas and Black Pete (if you're a rather PC person like me, this aint your country)

So, once again, my parents will welcome me back with open arms. And I know the next time I spring another dumbass idea on them (which I will), they won't heave a sigh, groan or even roll their eyes at me... at least not on the outside. They might try to distract me with something shiny, but that's about it. I do think, however, that my next "plan" may lean toward the more mainstream as I'm actually quite tired of living my life in 3 month spurts. As a good friend would say, it's time for me to put on my big girl pants.

I'm coming home, Mama!