Football Season is Icky

I hate football season. Football season means Autumn, and Autumn means Winter and Winter is stupid.

Oh, but Stacy, you say you can always find the silver lining. Where's the silver lining in this? I say, "Shut Up."

Autumn feels like a Sunday night when your homework isn't done and you have a big test on Monday. It gets dark earlier, you have to wear a jacket or a sweater, you have to turn the heat on. I like the air conditioning. I like sandals and t-shirts. I like sitting on the porch and not freezing my butt off.

"But, you can eat soup, and chili, and cuddle on the couch! You can take long walks and crunch through the leaves! It's romantic!" I hear you exclaim. I eat soup and chili when I want to, and if you turn the air up enough, you can cuddle in any weather. I don't like brown, dead leaves, and it's not romantic. It's icky.

"So move," I hear you say. I say, "No. I hate moving more than I hate Winter." And, yes, I have an answer for everything.

Why am I on this subject, seeing as it's still early days in August? It's pre-season football time. It's the sign that Summer is on the way out and Autumn is on the way in. And so these early pre-season games depress me and put me in a not-so-sunny mood. I feel my little black rain cloud gathering.

Great Expectations

"What cute things did Hannah do today?"
"Any Hannah stories?"
"How was Hannah's morning?"

These are the questions I often encounter when I speak with my mother. I can't really blame her for wanting the details on her only grandchild, but talk about pressure! Some mornings there are cute-at-the-moment moments that I forget about as soon as they've happened. Some mornings there are over-the-top cute/funny things to report. But not everyday. Some days, nothing cute happens at all. Some days we have just a normal, boring, everyone got out the door on time morning. And I'm so okay with this. But my mom, well, my mom wants daily cuteness alerts and I'm struggling.

I'm inviting you all to help me create some cute/funny things I can tell my mom that will amuse her and get her to understand that I CAN'T TAKE THE PRESSURE of a daily cuteness update. Because today, I'm gonna fail in answering her questions. I'm too tired and too achy from having had my face rocked off at last night's Green Day concert. So, a little help from my friends would be, um, helpful.

Here are a couple ideas to get you started.

1) Hannah was so cute this morning. She wanted to know if she should start Handel's Messiah piano or forte. I told her to give them both a shot and she decided that starting quietly and building up to an amazing crescendo would best showcase her operatic skills. (No critiques on if this is correct or not, people. I haven't performed this since high school and can't remember how it starts. Or ends. Or how it sounds in the middle.)

2) Hannah was so cute this morning. She was cooking us breakfast and threw an all out toddler-style hissy fit because her souffle fell when Angus barked at a squirrel. We've tried to warn her that souffles are difficult in this house, but that girl, she's just gotta figure it out for herself.

3) Hannah is so funny. She reversed the 52nd and 53rd decimal places of Pi this morning. Hahaha! That girl cracks me up.

And here's one from my friend, Vanessa.

Hannah just showed me her fully proofed mathematical equations to prove the imaginary number "I" exists!

Okay, your turn.

Flatulence

"I fart. Mommy! Mommy? I FART!"
And we both giggled.
And then I remembered to be a mommy. "You tooted?"
"No, I fart."
"Okay, well, when you do that, you need to say, 'Excuse me, I tooted.'"
"'Cuse Me! I Fart!"
And we both giggled.

When did it stop being okay to fart in the presence of others? I'm not talking about on an elevator with a group of acquaintances or strangers, that's rude. I'm talking out in the open, amongst family and friends. I'm also not talking about locking the windows, launching an air biscuit in the car while traveling down the highway (thanks, Donny! That was always so much fun) and laughing maniacally. But, I have to admit, it made me laugh, too, as soon as I was able to get the window down again.

Here's something that I think everyone, young and old, thinks but never admits. Farts are funny. They are slightly forbidden and they sound funny. They make me laugh. Because sometimes, I'm still 12-years old.

Unless they happen in public in front of strangers. Then I will blush for you. I can't take it when others are embarrassed, which is why I cannot watch the American Idol auditions or listen to most poetry. It hurts my soul. So, if you let a fart slip in public, I promise to continue to accept you and will even speak with you after, you pariah, you.

But farting in private settings is a-okay with me. If you are my friend, I trust you will announce your intentions, let 'er rip, and giggle with me. I don't want my friends to be uncomfortable around me, and trapped gas will end a good evening of conversation and camaraderie faster than you can light a match. Just don't expect me to go first. You already know my feelings on the subject, but it's up to you to make the first move.

So, come on over, grab a porch chair, and if ya gotta, ya gotta, just warn a girl.

Words, Words, Words

NSFPOBC (Not Safe for People Offended by Cursing)

Yesterday morning the word, "Holy!" floated out of the kitchen and into the living room where Hannah and I were sharing some breakfast. Hannah gazed towards the kitchen as if she was seeing the word flutter by and announced, "Crap!" The 12-year-old in me wanted to giggle. The mom in me wanted to gasp. I went with something in the middle and ignored it, completely.

Despite 2 1/2 years of work, Bryan and I still have "potty mouths". I have significantly toned things down. If something falls out of the freezer and onto my toe, I am more likely to yell, "Fudgesickle" these days. But when I hit my thumb with a hammer, or I walk in dog pee in the kitchen, you know what doesn't make me feel better? Shoot, darn, dang it, and Oh No! These words don't work. Creatively stringing together curse words makes me feel better. Sometimes, I am so creative that I cheer myself right up and forget about the thing that made me curse in the first place. And you know what? I don't feel guilty. I don't feel as if I've sinned, as I was led to believe I'd done when I was younger. I feel calmer, like I've purged some demons.

I know not to curse in public or around children that aren't my own (and I'm getting so much better around my own). I know that people judge others on the words that come out of their mouths and opportunities may be lost. I know that too much cursing makes you sound like an uneducated moron. And as I will be paying for the REST OF MY LIFE for my Master's degree, that is exactly how I don't wish to sound. But behind closed doors, in my car, and around friends, I will take that filter off and express myself however the hell I want. I spent my teenage years and a good chunk of my 20's cursing out loud, in public, whenever, whereever I wanted. But I needed to do that, to get it out of my system, to rebel against all the rules I grew up with. All the unexplained, just don't do it, just don't question it rules I grew up with. All the rules I know were for my own good, but without back-up, meant nothing and were things to ignore, test, and question. Yep, I learned the Why.

The fact is, I enjoy cursing. It's fun, it's freeing, and it's just a set of words that some people consider to be offensive, which is why it's fun and why it's freeing (Oooh, look! A big circle!). But now there's a Honey-Nut Cheerio eating parrot in our house. And there's nothing quite like hearing the little person you are responsible for repeat, "Fuck!" which, in all fairness you yelled right after you'd set the oven on fire with a damn croissant (see, the word damn adds a little something, somehow shifts the blame from me to the baked good that fell onto the heating coil at the bottom of the oven). Your blood runs cold and you freeze. Your mind races to find an appropriate response. And you wonder how you're going to convice a 2-year old not to repeat this new found expression at daycare the next day. Because no matter how okay you may be with cursing, it is still a forbidden word and you still don't want to be called into the daycare center's office to have a chat with the principal.

I know in a few years, we'll be able to explain to Hannah that there are words that aren't appropriate in all situations. Or around Nana. At all. Ever. We will explain the appropriate times, we will give her permission to use these words, if necessary, without fear of punishment (Ha ha! We'll take away the power of the words). We will explain to her the Why behind the rules. And then we will watch her find the Why on her own. But for now, we have to be careful how much power we give these words. To freak out and start yelling will let Hannah know she has a word that can get an adult's attention in a split second. Yes, for now we will (mostly) ignore the bad words she parrots back to us and we will be more dilligent in watching what we say within ear shot. But, we will continue to be ourselves in our home, in our cars, and with our friends. And if you've got a problem with it, I'm pretty sure you can figure out what to go do with yourself.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

10 years ago, I never thought I'd worry about:

1) If we have any fruit snacks in the cupboard
2) If there are purple snacks included in the fruit snack pouches
3) How many fruit snacks are too many for one sitting
4) If fruit snacks come out of car upholstery