Here Comes the Sun

Sorry for the brief absence, all.

You see, the sun has been calling my name. It’s been a bit of a wolf call, actually. Long and drawn out….impossible to ignore.

And, I’ve responded in typical lady like fashion…batting my eyelashes…pretending to ignore his flirtatious gestures. Telling him my dance card is full. Biding my time.

Until, finally…the perfect day.

75 degrees. No wind. Blue skies.

My little ducklings in tow, I made my way to the nearest patch of sun. There was a whole lot of lounging. A bit of strolling. A dab of picnicking. Plenty of skipping. Some bug catching. And, quite possibly too much bubble blowing.

And, again, the next day….and the next…

Summer, my friends, has stolen me away….

Author’s note….Don’t worry. You aren’t rid of me yet.

Don't worry. It's nothing.

Lately, there’s been a whole lot of nothing going around here.

I have nothing to say. Nothing to do. Nothing to blog. Nothing. Not a thing. And, don’t worry. Nothing’s bothering me. Nothing. I promise.

In that vein, I thought I’d spotlight nothing today. Absolutely nothing.

Mammatalk: So…um, Mr. Nothing, is it? There seems to be a whole lot of complaining about nothing lately. Nothing on the horizon. Nothing in the bank. Nothing works. Nothing’s going right. How do you feel about this?

Nothing: Ah, shucks…It was nothing, really. Just doing my job.

Mammatalk: And, what do you think spurred all these complaints?

Nothing: Just a whole lot of nothing.

Mammatalk: Does all this media attention bother you?

Nothing: Nope. Nothing bothers me.

Mammatalk: No concerns for potential legal action?

Nothing: They’ve got nothing on me.

Mammatalk: Is there anything else you would like to add?

Nothing: No. Nothing.

Mammatalk: By the way, off topic, what is that you are wearing today?

Nothing: Ah, nothing.

Mammatalk: Thank you, Mr. Nothing. It’s been a pleasure interviewing you.

Nothing: Think nothing of it.

So, there you have it, folks. Something about nothing.

Librarian Rock Star

It’s standing room only. You’ve got to get there early to get seats. And front row seats are an impossible claim. But, the show is worth it.

It’s story time at the library. And, it’s the hottest ticket in town. I mean…in my circles. Equipped with a stack of books, props, puppets and a cartoon voice, this woman can hold the interest of a room full of toddlers. Her enthusiasm is catchy and soon every adult is following along with her songs and finger plays.

Later, you’ll wonder what came over you. It’s been awhile since you shook the ol’ caboose to the beat of “If You’re Happy and You Know It”. Lord knows, you’re usually not one to belt out an off key “Twinkle, Twinkle” quite so loudly in public. And, you remain hopeful that was not your neighbor sitting behind you when you were grooving to the Chicken Dance.

So embarrassing.

Yeah, but you’ll come back. She’ll get you hooked. Suck you in. Add you to the ranks of her star crossed groupies.

And, no….I am not giving up my front row seats.

See you at the library!

The Doctor is In

I have often said that writing is cathartic. It helps me process things, vent, and sort through my mental clutter.

So, why was it surprising to me when, one morning, my medium point pen cleared his throat and began asking me some probing questions?

Pen: So, tell me about your childhood…

Pen: And, what were you thinking when you published that post?

Pen: How did that comment make you feel?

I was reluctant to answer at first, of course. I tend to lean towards glossing over the issues and stuffing matters deep into the subconscious. But, the stolen glances to his wristwatch reminded me that my pen was on the clock. And, I had a feeling that I wasn’t receiving any courtesy discounts.

I was slow to start. But, one confession led to another…It wasn’t long before I began to spill the beans. I really let my hair down, revealing all my dark secrets and fears, exposing all the skeletons. I found it rather enjoyable to purge my soul to an inanimate object.

We were just starting to delve into my teen years when I heard that familiar throat clearing…

Apparently, my time was up and we weren’t scheduling for next week. I was actually referred out. To a specialist. It seems I challenged my pen beyond his capabilities.

But, I do have an appointment with a purple Sharpie next week.

Sounds promising, ya think?

Motherhood!

I have come to understand that motherhood is a form of surrender.

A surrender to the chaos…

“You! Stop! You! Sit! You! Come! You! No! You! ……”

A surrender to the goop…

“Gesundheit…..Ok. Ick.”

A surrender to the noises…

“Clang! Clang! AHHH! Brrzzt! Blech! No! MINE!”

A surrender to the confusion…

“Where did what go? Who? When? Huh? Which? Well….I dunno…”

A surrender to the stickiness…

“So, what is that pooled at the bottom of my purse?”

A surrender to the mystery…

“So, how the heck did this get shoved all the way down here?”

A surrender to the mess…

“Cheerios in the DVD player is not just one those things!”

Thankfully, this surrender is topped with kisses, belly laughs and adoring smiles. And, I am happy to wave the white flag of surrender for that anytime.

Cheers to motherhood!

Toddler Hair Salon

I should have known what I was getting into. Really. What did I expect?

But, when my preschooler came at me with that hair brush and my toddler joined in with the glittery hair clips, my heart went a flutter. I gave in. Caved. Surrendered.

I figured, as long as no scissors were involved…what the heck?

“Just you wait! Princess hair for you,” my preschooler piped.

“Clips! Clips!...Mine!!” my toddler told me.

I imagined this as a milestone. All mothers of girls must participate in this ritual, right? Our hair twisted and snarled around assorted barrettes…tufts of hair missing from our overzealous stylist…. Eyes tearing from the pain…. The mist of a mysterious aerosol can in the air.

Hubby found me later in the kitchen happily cooking with my glittery Princess-Medusa-Pippi Longstocking hair do. He stoically complimented me on the new elegant look. The fella’s gotten used to living with a gaggle of gals, after all….

But, his mood shifted when he saw the cat.

“Ah….Um…M-M-Mr.Kitty??”


Author’s note…Don’t worry. No kitties were harmed during this style session. Adorned, maybe. Primped, definitely. Improved, absolutely. Harmed, never!

Friday...Gotta Love the Guy!

I think I have a crush on Friday.

By mid-week, I get weak in the knees anticipating his arrival. On Thursday, it begins to sink in. He’s coming!

And, when he arrives, I embrace him and cover him with wet kisses! Oh! Friday! Friday! Friday! My favorite, favorite day!

Friday is that kind of a guy. He fills your head with promises of lazy Saturday mornings, breakfast in bed, picnics in the park and nights out on the town.

He’s a bit of a lady’s man, really. All over town, ladies bat their eyelashes his way, hoping he’ll pay them a visit. And, although he is a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type, there does seem to be enough of him to go around. He never seems to disappoint. I mean, who complains about Friday?

And, I’ve never known anyone to fight over the guy. Rather, everyone is thrilled just to get their tiny piece of the pie. “Thank God!! It’s Friday!”

As a matter of fact, I think the men are in on this, too. There seems to be a collective sigh heard around the world upon his end of the week arrival.

Everyone is giddy. A little lighter. More relaxed.

Then, he leaves us as quickly as he came, hand in hand with Lady Sunday. Heartbroken, we’re left with some boring guy named Monday. You know the type. All work and no play. Nose to the grindstone. Beady eyed. Cranky. And really teed off that he missed the party.

What a gigolo, that Friday guy, huh? A regular Good Time Charlie.

Sigh.

But, we always take him back, don’t we?