We had a great 4th of July weekend. Don't you think it's kinda strange when the 4th falls on the Sabbath? Because then it becomes sort of like a slightly off-beat three day extravaganza. At least with our family -- barbecue and pool, then shrimp, then the annual neighborhood barbecue with the city fireworks. But only in the evenings. And no parade or festivity attending during the day -- which, let's be honest, caused K.J. the Great to cry for a whole half hour yesterday morning until someone (possibly me) went a little AWOL and started making all kinds of crazy threatenings (which is dangerous, and I kept trying to warn myself because you have to follow through on things like that). When he was threatened with not getting to go to the Peach Days parade or the barbecue that night, he stopped crying immediately and went back to nerd land in the DS. Phew! 'Cause that would have stunk to have punished myself right out of those things, too! But I would have done it, dangit. Because there are few things I dislike more then children with more authority then their parents. I tried it all the time as a kid. It just didn't work. And now I do my darndest to not let the efforts of my offspring dictate me. May I be blessed in my efforts, that is all I've got to say about it.
Dearest Young Creatures I Have Been Blessed With,
I love you more then you will ever know. And I will stare your face right off the planet in a staring contest.
When I was 16, I drove my parents minivan into my mom's place of work. That's right. Right into the supporting pillar of the office building. It was horrible. I cried -- and cried -- and cried. And I think my parents wanted to kill me, but they didn't. Because my self-loathing at that moment was pretty darn strong. As you can see, they are wonderful and compassionate people. Anyhow, I had gone to get my mom and I a frozen coke. But the place was out of frozen cokes, which as you can imagine, was very damaging to my Psyche -- it was the middle of summer. So I drove back to the office. I started pulling in. And I hit the gas instead of the brake. It stunk. It stunk bad. Thank you, parents, for letting me live. Thank you, building owner, for feeling sorry for the sixteen year old with snot pouring out of her nose and not suing her or her parents.
Dear 16-year-old Marie,
It's okay. You're gonna make it. That will be the last building you drive into to date.
Your older self.
I still, truly, really and from my heart do not know what the name of my forthcoming child will be. And on that happy note, I bid you all adieu. Don't you just love Shakespeare? Don't you? I know I do.