One day, not in the next nine months, but one day, I’ll have a little baby (babies?) of my own. I’ll have babies that grow irretrievably into children who play soccer (perhaps play soccer badly if they’re my children) and lose teeth.
I told my students they were not allowed to start their essays, presentations, etc with a dictionary definition. I gave no such dictum about starting with an Urban Dictionary definition. As such, here we are:
Jeremy (halfway conscious, in his sleep, circa 6:00 AM): So… how did you find out that everyone in the building was ticklish?
Sierra: I didn’t sweetheart, that’s assault.
Yesterday my Facebook feed was abuzz with adorableness on Valentine’s–people publicly declaring their love and celebrating their flowers. As a manifestation of how old and mature I’m becoming, many of my friends posted pictures of their new Valentine’s–little babies covered with smooches, or pregnancy announcements clad in pink and red.
And honestly, it truly was adorable. I enjoyed it. I clicked the like button many times! I was happy it was Valentine’s Day!
But I was also a little bit cognizant of how much I would have hated my Newsfeed on Valentine’s Day five years ago–in the most cliche way of course. And though it was cliche and perhaps unnecessarily bitter, I don’t want to delegitimize the loneliness one single girl can internalize while scrolling through a Facebook Feed Full of Love.
So, remembering my former self, I decided to chronicle my 2015 Valentine’s Day here, where people actually need to CLICK to see, to choose to imbibe this particular love potion.
There are few things as unhappy as my hedgehog on her birthday. I’m trying very hard to establish a “birthday bow” tradition, wherein I force Hufflepuff into as many bows as she is years old.
It’s like the Oyster Stew tradition my mom has at Christmas Eve. Hufflepuff doesn’t hate it. She just doesn’t realize how much she loves it.
Here’s my photo essay of Hufflepuff’s Second birthday attempt.
If you’re a visual kind of person, my boredom looks like this:
One day freshmen year (of high school) my dear friend Elly came into the theater before school sobbing. Splotchy cries, streaming tears, suffocating breaths. Everyone in the theater leapt to our feet, ready for damage control. We were pretty sure that a cruise-liner full of her closest family members had sunk or something–such was the decibel of her sadness.
As a self-proclaimed Drew Barrymore non-fan, I still have to admit that Never Been Kissed is, in my opinion, the greatest chick flick of all time.
No really, I am. Certifiably. On a studied and measured personality test (Myers Briggs Mom? Help me out.) I scored one petite little baby step over the dividing line between Introverted and Extroverted. And I scored Extroverted, but just barely, which I guess I believe because I like performing, and getting attention pretty much rocks my world.
As I learn them, I like to share The Secrets to Marriage that accumulate in my marriage arsenal. Most recently I have discovered that whenever Spouse A comes up with a crazy idea, Spouse B’s job is to enthusiastically validate said “crazy idea” while secretly hoping that Spouse A will forget about it in time.
Jeremy does it to me too. Several weeks ago I told him I wanted to be an animal trainer for the movies. I know he was secretly hoping I’d forget that dream and move on. Either that, or he came up with a different solution for me to train “animals,” and his newest crazy idea has all been part of a plot to secretly and inadvertantly make my dreams come true.
Jeremy’s latest dream?