My husband recently informed me that sometimes I can come across as stuck up. Stuck up? what? I’m not stuck up. I’m shy. I don’t want to get trapped in an uncomfortable exchange of small talk with someone I’m not that familiar with. And then it dawned on me. With the exception of my husband, very few people know the real me anymore. I’ve become a failure at putting myself out there. I would rather stay in my comfortable little bubble than risk any rejection. I’ve started living my life to the adage “better to be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.” when I should take the chance to be foolish once in awhile. I won’t lie. The comment about me being stuck up has certainly lingered in my head. Maybe even lit a fuse. And then I started getting really annoyed by pinterest. One certain trend in particular. People have been pinning pictures of random, ordinary, every day occurrences and claiming them as being on their “bucket list”. Things like “Read all the Harry Potter books.” or “Own an iPhone 4S” and it seems completely silly to me. On the other end, the same people are pinning items like “Marry Ryan Gosling.” “Cure Cancer.” and it seems equally as silly to me. Look, I’m not saying it wouldn’t be nice to marry Ryan Gosling (those abs!) or that it wouldn’t be great to cure cancer, but I don’t think either of those things can rightfully be determined as bucket list items. And then it struck me. At least they are admitting that they want things. Big things, small things, impossible things. They are admitting to themselves and to others that they want them. They want an iphone, they’d also like to meet Patrick Dempsey, help stop animal cruelty. They are putting themselves out there and you know what? I can’t fault that.

For a very long time I have been so afraid to want things. I don’t like asking for anything for any reason. I feel compelled to reason my way into buying anything for myself (and even more compelled to talk myself out of it). I don’t ever do anything or buy anything “just because”. And it has nothing to do with my husband, it has nothing to do with my parents, it has nothing to do with God or my kids or the weather. It has everything to do with me. I have marked down my own value time and time again to increase the comparable value of others in my life and it took a misguided remark from my husband to clue me in. I’m not stuck up, I just don’t think anybody wants to talk to me. Why would they talk to me? I’m not particularly exciting, I don’t like to talk about politics or religion and I don’t like the idea of people feeling sorry for me. So don’t, by the way.

I don’t drink because I don’t want to do anything to embarrass myself. I don’t go out with co-workers because I don’t want to give the gossip mill anything to talk about. I’ve been trying all of my life to just blend in, not stand out, and now apparently I’m a snob. Okay. Alright. You want my bucket list? here it is.

I want to get my drivers license. I never got it when I was a teen and it didn’t matter until I moved to TX.
I want to get a tattoo of windswept red maple leaves across my shoulder blade. Living in Texas isn’t that fundamentally different from living in Saskatchewan, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the little things.
I want to learn how to sew, how to dance, how to play the cello. I miss having a creative outlet.
I want to write a meaningful blog post and not pull it hours later just because someone might actually read it.
I want my husband and I to finally take our honeymoon and do some actual living, because Lord knows I’m not doing it while I’m bitching about pinterest and he’s not doing it while watching Star Trek on netflix.
I want to stop feeling embarrassed when I start crying. I can and will cry for nearly any strong emotion. Anger, Sadness, Happiness. It’s a natural normal expression and berating myself into not letting it out isn’t doing anyone any favours.
I want some new cabinets for my kitchen.

I’m not going to lie. I’m still going to do a little eyeroll every now and then when I see things on pinterest that really don’t qualify as bucket list items. But hopefully instead of pinning photos of Paris, I’ll be finding a way to actually run my fingers through the grass beneath the Eiffel tower.

Maybe later I’ll climb on the roof of my house and try counting the stars. And I just might cry.

I’m always at a serious loss as to what to write in this here window. It’s kind of my own fault. I’m a little uncomfortable talking about myself. I don’t want to seem vain or self centered or you know, stupid. It kind of makes me feel silly to try to write about my life because most days I feel like the events in my life don’t really matter much to anyone outside looking in. Which is probably true. I digress. The fabulous Chibi pointed me to this little list of writing prompts called “30 Days of Shamelessness”. It seems a little bit more fun and light-hearted than the 30 days of Truth that I started, you know, a year ago.

My first prompt is for me to declare my love for an uncool tv show. Okay. Let me see. Well, here my super analytical brain has already started in on “Well, what exactly defines a tv show as being uncool?” Is it poor ratings? a high level of cheese? a show that nobody ever seems to talk about? I would reach into something from the past, like say, Blossom. Blossom is a show I’ve written about before, but I feel like at this point everyone LOVES Blossom just because it’s “ironic” in that Alanis Morrissette way that nobody can quite figure out. Also Mayim Bialik is in that Big Bang show that everyone except me and Robert seem to love. Most of my childhood shows have this same problem. They are loved for their nostalgia. So here I go. Let’s try something different.

What’s in my netflix? What am I watching that I might not tell people about? What do I enjoy that meets my previously stated criteria of not so great ratings (that I am aware of), a high level of cheese, and something I don’t think I’ve ever seen mentioned on Twitter?? I think I’ve finally landed on something. I’m getting something. I’m getting…I’m getting….

Okay. I’m not really sure if this show meets the criteria of being UNCOOL because I obviously totally love it. I giggle myself silly almost every episode. And, a show that featured a song by Band of Horses in the 4th season can’t be all that uncool. I give up. I don’t like uncool things. Everything I like is totally awesome and that’s my final answer.

PS: It really doesn’t hurt that the cast of that show is just so darn nice to look at!

PPS: My inner blogger is yelling “COP OUT! COP OUT! YOU SUCK!”

PPPS: Maybe I should have wrote about Ally McBeal.

I’m ready for my close-up!

In no particular order…

Preschool. Renovations. Sex. Bills. Lucinda’s head. James’ finger. My side. Robert’s foot. Dry wall. Polyurethane. My diet. Robert’s party. Ice cream. Work. Always work. That weird scratching noise coming from outside. What am I cooking tomorrow night? Is my son watching too much tv? (some things never change.) Am I doing the right thing at work? New friends. Old friends. The weight of the books. Speakers. Money. Calories. Too many grams of fat. Twitter. potty training. Lucinda’s anemia. The metric system. Counting. One. Two. Three. Dozen. We all need hair cuts. Shaving my legs. What am I going to wear on Saturday? Cake. Date night. My bathroom. Ham or Turkey? White or wheat? Cheddar or American? Decisions, Decisions. Sausage. Calories. My freezer. Steve Carrell or James Franco? Laundry. Crawling. Teething. Carpel Tunnel. Editing my blog. Grocery shopping.

Even if I manage to work out all of these, I will probably always forget the weight of the books.

But if I watch, if I listen, sit down in a familiar chair, memories and people come flooding back to me.

It can be the smallest of moments, the shortest of melodies, and my mind starts to wander.

For example, I’m not going to watch 13 Going On 30 any time soon. I’m not going to listen to that song that reminds me of the summer when I was 18. I even have a certain pair of pajamas that I intentionally abandoned in Canada because they remind me of someone.

Which brings me to my next question. Why do I avoid these things? Am I avoiding objects or am I avoiding memories? Is it all in self-defense? In defense of what? My own life?

As I sit back and consider my Pandora’s box, i wonder if the other people tied up in these memories still share them with me. I think that’s what I’m afraid of. Small moments and things that meant so much to me might mean nothing to the others involved. I suppose I’m making believe that they didn’t mean anything to me, either.

But I would be wrong.

Mommy’s Little Princess.

Five years ago my new husband and I had our first dinner as a married couple at a fast food restaurant. Five years later, we laugh and remember fondly every time we choose to dine at Whataburger.

Five years ago we had our whole lives ahead of us. Five years later, we still do.

I love you more and more every day.

And thank God, you love me too.

Lu and her new friend….the very fuzzy caterpillar.