April 21, 2015

Jury Duty

There were 75 of us potential jurors.

One wore a "Vegan Outreach" shirt, and carried a large bag with vegan sayings on it. I ate my hard-boiled egg as far away from her as I could, since I already heard her exceptionally loud voice striking up conversations with other jurors. Even if this had been one of the eggs from my neighbor's chickens (it wasn't this time), I know the argument that obtaining the chicks in the first place is cruel. A bummer, since I'd love to have chickens in the backyard, both as pets and for yummy delicious eggs. Of course the same argument can be made for growing plants: the seeds we purchase, rather than obtaining from an actual "family" farm, are GMO already.

Another immediately recognized a fellow potential juror. There were several "career" jurors around, it seemed. The lottery is random, and yet it isn't: even the court website suggests "updating" voter registration or address to increase one's chances of being called. And so, was it my recent registration of a new-to-me automobile that flagged me? This potential juror remarked to his friend, "I'll get out of it like I usually do," suddenly switching to stereotypical broken English, "No me-talky de Ingles. No hablo. How-you-say?" He laughed and became fluent again, "I'm not worried. They won't want me." And yet, just minutes later, the judge informed us that the trial would be conducted in Spanish.

Two jurors were late after lunch break: one was present but asked to go to the restroom, seemingly disappearing thereafter. The other tiptoed into the courtroom at exactly the last moment, when the judge was already issuing an official reprimand for the guy in the bathroom. Tiptoe woman was late the next day as well, but fortunately the court was delayed enough to not get her in trouble.

I was juror #21, and then after Juror #8 had a meeting in the Judges Chambers, Juror #13 became #8, and I became #20.

But I wasn't interviewed, because the case was dismissed unexpectedly. "The issue has resolved."

Last time this happened, the judge point-blank told us, "The defendant has changed his plea to 'guilty'."

But between this week's service and the other time I was unexpectedly excused without being interviewed, I had Jury Duty on the same day that Sandy Hook occurred. That case was an alleged gang-related murder situation. I hated that the Defendant was watching me be interviewed. I hated that the Defendent's friends were in the audience, taking note of the potential juror's names. I hated that the victim's familiy was also in the audience, because via social media on our lunch break, I learned of Sandy Hook. That day was fragile. I was very wiped by many types of emotion. Seeing people -- both online and in front of me -- who lost loved ones was not fun.

Thankfully, this week's Jury Duty wasn't so delicate. My only problem was accidentally not putting my car in "P" and so freaking out a bit when it wouldn't start (until I realized my mistake.) And of course, I didn't go to the store, so my kids declared their hunger over and over again. But that's nothing remarkable.

March 30, 2015

Stonyfield OP organic high-protein smoothies save the day!

This entire school year has been filled with scratchy throats, upset stomachs, and exhaustion. We've had ER trips for breathing problems, and missed birthday parties. Both my sons have had more school absences than we'd like, and in general we haven't been able to do as much as we'd want because it seems as though someone is always sick.

My youngest son is a competitive gymnast. Unfortunately, his gymnastics season mirrors the prime sickness season. He trains all year to do a quick series of meets from December through March, with only those athletes who qualify attending Championship meets in April and May. The aim for gymnasts his level is to first qualify for the State Championship, and then subsequently qualify for the Regional Championship. (Once he gets to the more advanced levels, he'll have the chance to qualify for the National Championship; but for now, Regionals is the highest he can go.)

Keeping my family healthy is important in general, but is especially critical during the brief gymnastics season. It is so disappointing to not do well at a meet (or miss the competition completely) because of illness, since there are so few meets in any given season.

Meanwhile, Stonyfield asked if I might be interested in trying their OP Organic Protein smoothies. I'm a big fan of their yogurt, and adore smoothies, so it was a natural match. At the start of this month, I received samples of their vanilla and strawberry flavors. I put them in the fridge, and was planning to drink them myself as a quick breakfast-on-the-run.

Stonyfield Organic OP High-Protein Smoothie The OP smoothies pose in my back yard before being consumed.

Well, the very next day my gymnast son fell ill. He skipped school, but didn't skip workout (shhhh!) because he was gearing up for the State Championships. (Luckily, he qualified for States back in December, before the seemingly never-ending string of various bugs started marching around his school.)

Of course he was simultaneously hungry and not-hungry. He couldn't not eat right before a strenuous workout, but he also couldn't consume something that would irritate his stomach while he was already under the weather.

Nearly everything in the fridge was deemed too spicy, or too heavy, or too bland. I wanted him to have some yogurt since I figured the active cultures would be good for his queasy tummy, but he told me he wasn't in the mood for the flavors we had available. I asked if he wanted to try the Stonyfield OP vanilla smoothie and his eyes lit up. I explained it was essentially drinkable yogurt. He was thrilled, and --after a long, satisfying sip-- told me it was delicious.

He quickly depleted the stash that Stonyfield had sent.

"You got to get more of this!" he told me.

Fortunately, I found both the vanilla and strawberry flavors at my local Whole Foods, plus the chocolate OP! I was able to buy a bunch of smoothies, which meant I finally got a chance to try them myself. (Yum!) Although my son loves to just drink them straight, I've found it is fun to add things like strawberries to the strawberry flavor, or banana to the chocolate flavor. Of course they are perfect to just "grab and go," but I've enjoyed adding other ingredients to them as well. During the summer, I think I'll try blending them with a bunch of ice to create slushees - fun!

Stonyfield OP smoothies can be found at Whole Foods I was thrilled to find OP smoothies at my local Whole Foods

This past weekend, as we packed for State Championships, I asked my son what he wanted to bring to the hotel. "Vanilla yogurt smoothies!" was his quick answer. He told me his plan was to drink one before bed and another the next morning before competition. I was pretty thrilled that instead of craving junk food to calm his nerves, he wanted something healthful that could actually power his body in a positive way.

I'm sure you can guess the outcome of the meet: Yes, my son qualified for the Regional competition. (And, he earned 5th place on parallel bars and 6th on pommel.) Despite a very nervous stomach, he was able to digest something nutritious thanks to Stonyfield OP smoothies.

Stonyfield OP smoothies are gymnast-approved! Stonyfield OP smoothies are gymnast-approved!

(I'm guessing we'll have to find a Whole Foods near the Regionals site so he'll be ready for his final meet of the season!)

I've been a fan of Stonyfield for a long time, as you can tell by the YoGetter badge that's been in my sidebar for years. I love that Stonyfield is always inventing new products that meet their quality standards: organic, no pesticides, no hormones, no antibiotics, and no GMOs. (That's a lot of "no" that adds up to a big "YES.") OP is gluten-free, and is the first organic protein smoothie with 5 live active yogurt cultures and no artificial sweeteners. I love that OP is portable, filling, and tasty in addition to being healthful. Yum!

The products Stonyfield send me are free in exchange for my spreading the word about them. (In this case, Stonyfield sent me a few, and then I bought a whole bunch more on my own dime!) Likewise, I do receive a stipend for my work with them. But, as you readers know, I only mention products that I truly believe in.

March 17, 2015

The Minivan

Ten years ago, I bought a minivan.

While I was on the test drive, the dealer remarked how he and his wife had just gotten out of their minivan years. He seemed really excited, and I found it an interesting tactic to talk about how fabulous it is not to have to drive one, while trying to sell one.

At the time, I had a preschooler and an infant. The "post-minivan years" seemed very far away, indeed. I embraced the need for a minivan. I was excited by my new vehicle. It had all the bells and whistles, and smelled fabulous (of course!)

After time, the intoxicating new-car-leather smell was replaced by various kid smells, and the tan carpet attracted the dirt that I knew it was going to (but my mom insisted tan was the answer, since black would be too hot in the summer!) During the first year of getting a Christmas tree with the van, I stabbed the roof, ripping the fabric. I hit a mailbox. We had various spills of food and other stuff. Still, I loved my minivan. It was comfortable and sure hauled a lot of stuff. I could chaperone field trips and take a bundle of kids (and later basses and cellos for the Orchestra) with no problem. I transported rescued dogs to adoption fairs for awhile, too. (And yeah, that van saw the first-grade class rats, my now-deceased cat Becca, and my new kittens Ace and Echo.) The van took my oldest son to his first day of elementary school, and to his last. It took the family to Disneyland. It took us on other adventures, like to the beach or snow country.

My minivan has served me well.

gold minivan

But I have moved on to a new vehicle, one that fits my needs better, now that my sons are older.

It is time to sell the minivan. And so, I've been finding all the vitals such as the title (of course) and the extra third seat that I never did use.

But where did I store that third seat?

I spent the morning essentially cleaning / rearranging my shed. That's not to say that it is clean and newly-organized --it's not-- but it is in much better condition than when I started. After all, I couldn't tell if the darn seat was in there or not. (I thought maybe I was storing it at my parents' house, or maybe in one of the other sheds.)

Once I found the seat visually, I had to physically get to it.

I had to peel away layers of memorabilia, moving backwards ten years. For each year, I stored a large plastic Ziploc for each of my kids: their schoolwork, a couple pieces of "memory" clothing, ticket stubs, artwork galore, projects. In order to get at the minivan seat, I had to pick up each bag and move it out of the way.

I wasn't prepared to face those years.

I thought I was going out to the shed to yank the seat off a shelf and be done with it. I had no idea that I was jumping into a nostalgic vortex.

Sure, the waterworks will come in full force in a few months when my oldest attends his promotion ceremony from 8th grade to high school, and my youngest bids goodbye to elementary school. (Oh man, I'm going to lose it then: we moved to our current home specifically for that elementary school, and I'll have no kids left there?) But, just seeing the piles of their memories today was a gut punch.

What happened to those tiny kids? You know, those small creatures I had all strapped in their car seats in my minivan?

February 19, 2015

A Strong Woman

I hate that "a strong woman" is really code for "she acts masculine." It is usually a compliment, although get too assertive, and that bitch is so abrasive. aggressive. pushy.

A girl playing with stereotypical boys' toys is applauded, but a girl who takes pride in stereotypical girls' activities is ignored as being one of the herd.

No, all toys shouldn't be pink for girls. But, for the girl who likes pink, isn't that OK that she wants a pink truck instead of a green one?

A parent at my son's gym laughed aloud at his pink shorts, commenting that they were probably once white but caught with a red sock in the washer. Nope. We dyed them pink on purpose!

People openly commented on my son's long hair, and made their approval quite clear once he cut it.

It is OK for girls to aspire to do "boy things." What a strong woman for being just as important as a man!

It is not OK for boys to do "girl things," because that's a demotion.


I worked in a preschool co-op when my oldest son was a toddler. There was this one little boy who adored the play kitchen. As soon as his grandmother was out of sight each morning, he'd go to the plastic stove and oven, and laugh as he whipped up imaginary cakes and omelettes.

One day, he decided to stay in the play kitchen during a time when usually the kids are reading books. The grandmother came to pick him up, and was furious. She usually saw him reading a book. She asked why we "forced" her grandson into the kitchen, muttering something about liberals under her breath.

When the grandmother dropped him off the next day, she directed him to the trucks. He started to toddle towards the kitchen. She grabbed him roughly and put him near the trucks. He was crying and crying. PLAY WITH THESE. The grandmother wondered aloud whether perhaps he was just too upset that day to remain at school. But, we insisted that he'd be fine once she left, and reassured her that if he was truly inconsolable, we'd call her. Finally, the grandmother left.

But a few minutes later, she went to the window outside the preschool to watch her grandson. By then, he was in the kitchen (of course!) She made horrific faces to show just how disappointed she was that he was playing there. Not surprisingly, he started to cry again.

The grandmother ran back to the preschool and announced that she would take him home.

We explained that he was completely content until she started making faces outside the window.

"Oh, I thought that was a two-way mirror," she told us angrily, not even understanding the idiocy of her statement.

That boy is now around fifteen years old. I wonder if he was allowed to learn to cook?


My son told me that one of his friends is breaking up with his girlfriend today.

The conversation we had about it was tough for me, because I totally saw things from my son's friend's point of view about how needy and guilt-trippy his soon-to-be-ex is. And yet, I also wanted to defend the female perspective, and give him a little insight as to why she might have behaved as she did.

"I suppose he should explain what went wrong," my son reasoned. I agreed, telling him that to validate her feelings while also explaining how it made him feel would be a good choice. Open communication, and all that.

But teenagers aren't the posterfolk for "logic."

Still, I heard traditional roles being played out. The whole concept that a clingy girl might "go crazy" or that he was "whipped" by her. (And they don't mean 50 Shades; they mean manipulative. "Don't do that or I'll break up with you!") Those sneaky ladies.


On dates I would eat quickly and eat heartily. I didn't want to be seen as one of those women who picked at her salad. Men hate it when woman eat tiny portions, right?, or do they secretly love it because they flatter themselves that a woman cares to be skinny for him?

I changed myself in many ways to not appear too needy, too clingy. I changed myself to fit his interests, because I didn't want to be demanding or difficult.

I lost myself.

I became neither a strong woman nor a strong woman.

January 15, 2015

For a Million Dollars

My son asked me if I'd eat worms for a million dollars.

Yup, I suppose I would.

My son asked me if I'd stare into the sun for five minutes for a billion dollars.

No, not without a shield of some sort.

A billion dollars is a lot of money.

Yeah, but my vision is precious to me.

Yeah, I agree.

Would you stare into the sun for a billion dollars?

I thought about other things I wouldn't do for a billion dollars, or even a million dollars. I wouldn't want to be isolated from my family. I wouldn't want to lose any of my senses. I wouldn't want to lose my mental or physical heath. I wouldn't want to be disfigured in any way. I wouldn't want to be permanently overweight.

I thought about how superficial some of my thoughts were. (Really Kari, you wouldn't agree to be fat forever for a billion dollars?) but of course some of my answers showed that I value others, which I suppose is "honorable." (For example, I wouldn't hurt someone for money. That is probably why I am not rich, since so many "successful" people purposely squash down others to stand on their shoulders.)

Our conversation was supposed to be kind of funny, but I've thought about it for days afterwards. After all, what I value does shape my behavior and how I choose to spend my time. When presented with an opportunity (or a demand) I have to consider, "Is this really worth it?" And on the flip side, what do I value intellectually that I'm not paying enough attention to in the real world?

January 12, 2015

6 Tacos

After school and before gymnastics, my son and I went to a Mexican restaurant to grab some "to-go" food.

I ordered six shrimp tacos for us to share.

About eight minutes later, we received our tacos, and walked out to the car. Once inside, I discovered only three tacos in our container. My son and I froze for a moment: we were right on time for gymnastics, taking into consideration the time it would take to eat the tacos. We couldn't afford another eight minute (or so) wait.

But we only had half our order.

Did Tacos save us from a car accident?

We went back in. "Um, I ordered six tacos, but there are only three here."

"Yes, I know," was the interesting response the cashier gave me.

As we waited for our tacos, it occurred to me that "seis" and "tres" sound pretty similar. I had indeed paid for six, but perhaps the person actually making the tacos misheard, and thought I had ordered three?

As we drove towards the gym after receiving our delicious-but-delayed order, my son funneled the food into his mouth as quickly as possible. We knew we'd be late, which was a bummer.

A couple minutes later, we saw a horrific accident. A car was completely turned over, and shattered glass covered all lanes. It was a fairly fresh collision and the police had just arrived on the scene.

I can't say for sure how many minutes prior that accident had occurred, but I would guess 8-10 minutes, just about the time we would have been passing through had we received all six tacos the first time.

December 31, 2014

It must be a New Year

Last night I had one of those stereotypical anxiety dreams: the college one.

Per usual, it was an end-of-the-semester situation where I had somehow neglected to go to class all semester. How could I possibly receive passing marks? In this case, it was the intended penultimate semester of my college career, so I was trying to figure out how I could possibly schedule my final semester in such a way to make up for the sins of the current semester and graduate on time.

But how?

In my dream, I had been sick all autumn. Indeed, in "real life" I've been getting nasty colds on repeat. (I'd like to think I saved myself from something much worse by getting my flu vaccination, but the season has been pretty brutal.) My motivation to attend class or to study was super-low, which is unlike my personality back when I actually was in college.

And yet, I was excited. In a way, knowing that I had books to read and new classes to sign up for was a fun new beginning. Even with the college anxiety dreams that involve me having no idea where the registrar is located (yes, I know, it is all online now,) I still love the idea of a fresh beginning.

The two things that still haunt me in my dreams: if I can't graduate on time, then that's extra money we have to spend, and how can I stay away from my kids for yet another semester?

It is funny how pieces of "reality" sneak into dreams: In nearly all of my college-type dreams, I am in college on the East Coast while my family lives on the West Coast. Yikes! In one dream, I'm offered a prestigious position... in New York. But of course my family is here, in California.

When I wake up, there is always a relief that yes, I did in fact graduate, and didn't flunk out while doing so, but also a let-down, that yeah... I'm "just a mom" here in California. I'm not embarking on any new adventures. I'm not learning any new things. Or will I? After all, a new year is brewing, which is a perfect time to re-evaluate what is going on in my life.

My family is definitely growing and evolving:

My husband has a new job. His new beginning is exciting and will hopefully affect the whole family in a positive way.

My older son had an interesting start to the school year, as he had emergency surgery on only the second day of attending classes. He missed much of the "introductory" stuff. So, he had to do a real life "catch up" before successfully getting fabulous grades. (I'm so proud of him!) He is growing up fast. We've already gone to the first orientation meeting for high school. Eek! And yet, I know he is ready. He has matured so much in just the last couple years, and it astonishes me. It is cliche, but I'm truly surprised at how quickly his childhood has whizzed by. I'm holding on to every moment, and yet I'm also glad for his independence.

My younger son had the first meet of his gymnastics season at the start of December (it went well - whew!) but he has several more meets coming up: this is both exciting and nerve-wracking, since he's hoping to gain new skills and to do well competitively! Last season he had difficulty with Sever's Disease, but we didn't know it was Sever's, or we would have successfully "solved" it. Now, he has a stretching and soaking protocol that he follows to reduce the pain. Still, I get nervous about injuries, and of course pray that he does his best during meets (since I see what he's capable of during workout, and of course want him to do the same when the judges are watching!)

I'm hoping for a great 2015 -- for my family, for my friends... and for me.

December 23, 2014

Thinking of you.

My youngest and I went to support some of his classmates in Peter Pan Jr. this evening. One of the fairies was played by a girl whose mom died this summer. At one point, the Lost Boys announce, "We want a mother!" and I happened to be looking at that one girl when the fairies echo, "Us too!" ... and I lost it. (Quietly.)

It isn't my tragedy, and I know she'd be horrified if she knew that my heart broke on her behalf at that moment, but I just want to acknowledge that I hold her family in my thoughts. She actually wasn't the only student at the elementary school who lost a parent this year, but she's the only one I "know" personally. It slays me that these young kids are experiencing loss so early.

I have adult friends who lost parents this past year, too. And so of course I'm thinking of them as well. Being an adult doesn't make grief any easier. It frightens me, because I know that my family members won't be around forever. And so I am simultaneously thankful for their presence and worried about making sure they are all OK. Always. (Even though I know it cannot be always and forever.)

Just today I learned of a friend whose husband is dying. She called her daughter who was on her honeymoon to come home immediately: it is that imminent.

Sometimes during the holiday season I find myself grumping around about trivial things. I hate these reminders that life is about so much more because I don't want to think about "PLEASE let it not happen to me!", and yet it is important to remember. Although I don't want to think about loss, acknowledging that others aren't so merry this year is a good reminder to be gentle to others, and to be thankful for what I have.


When I was younger, I participated in a bunch of "Secret Santa" exchanges. Often, I'd go "all out" for my person, but then I'd end up with someone who flaked out, so I'd get nothing (or next to nothing.)

This year, I had a terrific #SecretClever, through the Clever Girls gift exchange. She got me things that I adored! Meanwhile, I bought my person some things I figured she'd enjoy, too. It felt great, because it was a reciprocal event. I felt I did something nice, and I felt valued too because I got goodies - yay!

Well, it turns out that the wonderful gal who bought me my presents didn't get any in return. Before knowing it was her, I agreed to be this mystery blogger's replacement #SecretClever. When I learned who I'd be buying for, I was so excited!

I spent the day shopping for her, so glad to do something for someone who had already made me smile. I am disappointed that her original person was unable to complete the task (yet I acknowledge that this person may be in the midst of crisis; I don't know), but I'm thrilled that I could step in to provide a little holiday joy for her.

I'm definitely thinking of her this holiday season. Friendship is definitely golden.

December 4, 2014

Black, White and Grey

It has been a shocking and difficult time for the Black community. As a white woman, I can understand privilege from the "I'm not male" perspective, but have not experienced it from the "I'm not white" perspective, because I am white. Still, I have witnessed things that are overtly racist, and some that are more subtly so.

I've thought a lot about racial relations and privilege recently. I've thought about standards of beauty, and expectations for how people are "supposed" to be... and how when things don't mesh with our own experiences, our own perspective, we are prejudiced.


When I was young, my cousin got a doll with long blonde hair. My parents got me a Black baby doll with short dark hair. I was mad because I wanted to do my dolly's hair.


My son told me that in circle time on Monday, a classmate shared that his father was unable to come to Thanksgiving dinner because he was required to "deal with the protesters." I told my son that Michael Brown will never be at Thanksgiving dinner ever again.


I had lunch with a friend a couple weeks ago, plus one of my friend's collegues who happens to be from Sweden. She noted my last name and wondered about my heritage. "Did you do Santa Lucia?" she asked me, before rolling her eyes and explaining that even to this day, the girl with the longest, blondest hair is the special one who stands in the front of the class while everyone else wears "stupid" elf hats as part of her court.


When I told my son about Eric Garner, his eyes welled up with tears. "That doesn't make any sense," he told me. As I rambled on and on about all the things happening in that realm, he thoughtfully remarked, "That's just like Rice, a story we read last year." He told me the tale, which essentially was part racial-profiling, and part lack of empathy for poverty. (It was a Les Mis type thing: poor man steals only enough to feed his family.) I could only nod as he repeated, "That's just so wrong." After all, he thought such things only happened in "stories."


The very first Black kids I met were twins Michelle and Michael. I loved playing with them, and especially loved how Michelle's hair puffed out. I wanted my (thin, sparse) hair to puff out like that!


An organization that I assist with caters to both English- and Spanish-speaking people. The majority of the fliers and posts are in English; however, occasionally I'm able to post things in Spanish. I advertised some Spanish fliers, and someone immediately wrote, "What's this say?" (Um, look everywhere else. Everything else is in English, Dearie.) Then someone wrote, "Thank you so much for posting this in Spanish." Immediately, someone else countered, "Thank you so much for posting this in English" ...and immediately got "likes."


In elementary school, I met a Black girl named LaShelle. I laughed because there was a street in my neighborhood named LaSalle. LaShelle lived with her grandmother and some other members of her extended family. I was intrigued by this. I just had a mom, dad, and brother with me in my house. I had to travel far to visit either set of grandparents. How funny to have everyone under the same roof!


The first time I heard the term "White Privilege" was from a very white man 20+ years my senior. He thoughtfully told me --and the others in the room during an education-related meeting-- about a conference he attended with a bunch of students. At the same time, I met a woman who I recall saying, "I'm scared about our Black boys. I want to save them. THAT is why I am here." I didn't understand what she meant at the time. Alas, I've now come to learn about many examples that make my chest tighten with recognition and concern for mothers who have Black boys. (I feel very vulnerable as a mother, and realize that if I had Black boys, I would be suffocated by my fear.)


I dated a guy whose grandmother insisted she was of Swedish decent. She routinely dismissed the "stupidity" (she used a harsher term) of the "Orientals" (her words, not mine) for "messing up" the Scandinavian bloodline. Those ?$%^ Oriental concubines! she'd shake her head with disgust. Oh, should I mention she had dark, smooth, shiny black hair and gorgeous almond-shaped eyes?


I wore black today to support #BlackLivesMatter


Now before you say, yeah, but All Lives Matter: Well, I love the below tweets, which I found via Awesomely Luvvie.

Arthur Chu [@arthur_affect] tweets out excellent ways to look at why #AllLivesMatter is not an understanding response to #BlackLivesMatter

Understanding this is similar to the #YesAllWomen versus #NotAllMen thing from earlier this year. While I may be white, and therefore don't fully comprehend the depth of what is going on in the Black community (or more accurately, what the Black community feels given what some white people do) I can understand #YesAllWomen. I am all too aware about how I have been treated because I am a woman. And yeah, I understand that not all guys are "mean" or "sexist" or whatever you want to call it. But, men have privilege (much of what isn't their "fault" nor do they truly understand how their male-ness really does assist them) just like I have white privilege.

And so, I understand what I do not understand.

Note: I realize two of my brainstorms above had to do with non-Black ethnicities (Spanish-speakers and Asians, respectively.) But, I wanted to mention these as part of a similar problem of not recognizing privilege (or, in the case of the boyfriend's grandmother, a case of race-hate). Racial stereotypes and profiling are real. And of late, the consequences therein have becoming devastatingly clear and horrifically frightening.

November 28, 2014

My Wish List

November is my birth month! But, although I began brainstorming my hopes and desires at the start of the month, the craziness of the holidays has consumed me so much that it is now the end of the month. Ah well, perhaps next year. But here's what I want... someday:

- a headset or car thingy so I can actually use my phone in the car. I used to have one and then it died. I want The Best Thing, yet there are many choices.

- to no longer be on antibiotics. (And no longer need a new course once I've finished the current one.)

- a mophie for my phone since my old one died. (updated: I snagged one for myself thanks to their excellent Black Friday deal - hooray!)

- to take care of myself better

- to shop for bras and get properly fit without having to deal with Judgmental Bra Ladies. (I think I got my current bra in, like, college.)

- a small desk so that I don't work at the dining room table (and an additional bookshelf or file cabinet to store things)

- to be more confident

- to have more good hair days than bad hair days (if I could be on "week 3" post-haircut forever, that would be good.)

- a new bedspread (soft! pretty! snuggly!)

- to be appreciated

- some curtains for the window by my computer

- to freeze time, since my boys are at really cool ages. (My oldest and I recently went to a high school orientation night. I'm not ready to have a high-schooler.)

- to not feel ugly

- one day of no work (just one.) And I don't mean "postponing work until the next day so that everything piles up."

- these earrings

- for people to stop asking "how's my back" (because the answer is not satisfying, so I can either be truthful and explain, or lie and then have folks say, "Oh, good! So now you can exercise again..." #YouAreFat)

- to not be afraid to speak up for myself

- something luxurious

- a better 2015

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