The Stereotypical Sorority Girl

We have had a pleasurable few weeks visiting friends in San Antonio and having my Dad and sister spend a week with us in Dallas.  This has created quite a list of potential writing material.

San Antonio was having their annual 3 day cold front during our visit.  It was actually nice to be "snowed" in with friends!  Patricia was taking Sophia and Camryn to a children's theatre to see Peter Rabbit while Juliet snuck in a much needed nap.  

I found myself alone and took the opportunity to play with my new Iphone.  There was so much about it that I hadn't explored. I downloaded Pandora, the application that creeps inside your thoughts and will only play songs that you enjoy tremendously---one after another.   I entered the song "BetterMan" by Pearl Jam and was talking to myself in disbelief as they played equally appealing songs from this late 90's genre over and over again.

"Three Marlenas" by WallFlowers came on and I rolled over on the floor consumed in laughter.  Might I add it was a comfortable roll, Patricia had recently purchased a stunning new area rug from Home Goods.  She was a joy that would light up anyone's living quarters.

Brace yourself for a side of Tracy you may not have had the opportunity to be in the presence of.

The college sorority girl.

It was late August and the Illinois State Fair boasted its usual line up of mediocre musical talent with a catchy headliner.  The son of the great Bob Dylan would be playing with his band, The WallFlowers.

This left us no choice, we embarked on yet another college road trip.

Alcoholic beverages of choice in hand, we had general seating in the outdoor venue.  Situated on the second level, Leann and I decided we were entirely too far away from this stunning creature of God.

Don't get me wrong.  I do not prescribe to Jakob's lifestyle of drug and alcohol abuse, citing enhanced creativity or not.  I also firmly believe that Sigmund Freud would still be the scholar he is deemed without his use of the cocoa bean and designation as the world's first known cocaine addict.  I am lucky enough to be in the presence of a considerable number of creative people who absolutely flourish..... without mind altering substances.

That being said, I am not immune to the sheer intoxication that a vocalist can bring me to.  

Leann and I headed down through the crowd with all the self righteous authority of naive college students.   We mingled ourselves into the dead center of row 2.    

Jakob immediately made eye contact with me.  I did the cursory glance over my shoulder to ensure his interest.

Yes, he was locked on me.

This continued on for the duration of the song.  

I heard mumblings of "Oh My God he is singing to her. " "He can't take his eyes off her."  Young, local High School girls were screaming at me..."He is singing to you!"

Well of course he is budding young ladies......don't you see my stunning platinum blond hair?  Or perhaps he is attracted to the 6 pack stomach that is gently peeking out of my yes, half shirt.  All this to offer and he hasn't even met my captivating personality yet.

I am so making out with Jakob Dylan today.

Without exaggeration, Jakob continues the solo concert for my personal pleasure and as the stadium empties.... I am left standing.  Leann is long gone and in typical fashion, carrying the news back to the group.

The sun has long set and I will need to be pried from my place on the ground.  A sound stage gentleman motions to me from the stage.

This is it!

"Sweetie, he says....If Jakob wanted you to come to his trailer he would've asked us to get you by now."

It took a minute for the crushing news to set in.  I turned on heel to find a completely empty stadium. The silence combined with the size of the venue mirrored my defeat.

Months later on the cusp of a momentous occasion, I attempted to contact my serenader.  

Surely an invitation to my sorority formal would be accepted.

All I can do is hope that Sophia and Juliet don't get a full dose of my intrepid spunk.

An Afternoon That Dreams Are Made Of

Yesterday morning I was talking to one of my best friends, my mother-in-law.  The conversation turned to our cell phones and I.C.E.  (in case of an emergency) designations that Internet circulations suggest we make.  She was telling me that she had I.C.E. 1, 2 and 3.   

I made a mental note to take care of this in the rare event it was needed one day.

There are 2 days in the year I look forward to with unabashed excitement.  The first is my 6 month check up at the Dermatologist and the 2nd is my next 6 month check up at the Dermatologist.  My weakness for tanning beds in the early nineties combined with a strong family history of skin cancer allow me the distinct privilege of participating in these events throughout the year.  

The exuberance surrounding my unique opportunity to be completely naked under unforgiving fluorescent lighting was underwhelming.  

Did I mention the office is only 40 degrees?  

Did I reference that I had both children with me?

We entered the waiting room and of no surprise to me the majority of the patrons were elderly gentleman.  This was the only saving grace.  

My children were going to have the competition of their lives trying to get my attention. 

12 of the 14 wrinkled old men were quietly snoozing.  Hats down over their bald heads, hands gently folded- extending over their large bellies with each breathe and dressed in layers on a warm day.  

The ambience relaxed me.

Sophia climbed next to me on a couch while I gave Juliet a bottle.   After Juliet was done, she started babbling, like most 8 month old children do.  She screamed "DADA DADA DADA" over and over again.

In almost perfect synchronization, the waiting patients were awaken.  

Good, now we can chat.  I am always in the market for a dose of unsolicited wisdom.

Is that an oxymoron...."waiting patients?" 

A particularly overdressed gentleman to my left saw the girls and gave us a most angelic smile.  My face and heart smiled along with him.  An easy invitation for a temporary friendship.  

He began what would be a 30 minute overview of the types of metal that strollers and high chairs were constructed of "back in the day."  He gained credibility by sharing that his oldest grandchild was now 26.  

Back in the day certainly was a long time ago.  

Similar to my in-laws-- his wife has every single one of these gems stored in the attic and while her children turned down her gracious offerings, she held out hope that perhaps her great grandchildren would enjoy a sturdy metal carriage ride or a relaxing meal in the strapping high chair.

His equally stunning wife came out of her appointment and I resisted the urge to hug him good-bye.  We parted ways, each having taken something so valuable from our conversation.  To make the experience complete, he reopened the office door and shouted at the top of his lungs, "If you ever need a metal stroller, we have one for you!"

With that entertainment behind me, I noticed how sweaty I was becoming from toting Juliet around the small confines.  I asked the receptionist how far behind the doctor was.  She said, "Honey, we still have 1:15 appointments waiting."  

It was 3 o'clock---no wonder they were all sleeping.

With mild frustration I shared the obvious information that I had my children with me and wasn't going to last 4 hours.

She offered to fit me in with the PA.  After demanding a cursory overview of his education and experience, I accepted.

I walked down the hall feeling a bit less apprehensive.  I convinced myself that I would be a welcome patient in terms of physique when compared with the waiting room clientele.

The first thing he noticed was my pregnancy mask.  Without asking my thoughts he tailored up a prescription for some magic medicine that used for 8 weeks will erase my Juliet kisses.  I will admit that I put it on quite apprehensively last night.  I love all that pregnancy is and these are the last physical marks representing my journey.

I showed the kind man a freckle on my foot that was making me uncomfortable and before I could say much more the numbing needle was in and she was shaved off.  

A proprietor of honed skill I had him deemed. 

Even after I overhead slight mumblings of "blood vessel."

I got dressed all the while praising the girls for what a good job they did and how patient they were.  

We went out to the receptionist and she immediately shouted, "She's going to faint, get a nurse!"

"Oh my God...I thought."   Forgive my temporary display of selfishness, but I truly just wanted to be checked out.  Take my hard earned money, give me a receipt for flexible spending submission and of course, schedule that next 6 month visit....a girl needs something to look forward to.

Can't the medical emergency wait?

I leaned down to the stroller to get my wallet--- and was aghast to see a pool of blood.  My entire shoe was spilling over and like a faucet, blood was spraying out from all angles of my bandage.  I guess I looked pale.

It was still numb so I didn't feel a thing ---until I saw it.  That's all I needed to get ridiculously lightheaded.  

Great.  No I.C.E. number in my cell phone.  

I can see them calling the stay at home Mom/Ph.D. in Anthropology candidate named Catherine that I just met in Florida.  They will phone Northern Quebec and most likely be distracted by her beautiful French accent.

But......people surprise me everyday.  Let's see what Catherine can do for me.

A nice woman, but a stranger nonetheless, took my girls to sit down.  Sophia had her eyes covered the whole time and for once, I don't think wanted to be with me.  I saw her, she was scared to death of all the blood.  It was in the perfect spot.  Every time I moved, it sprayed and sprayed.

3 shots later, full of blood and cauterized, I was set to go.

I hobbled to the car, light headed or not I had to get to Claudia's---she had a special delivery from San Antonio. 

A Pleasant Looking Distraction That Outfit Is

It was Thursday, February 12th and we were headed through Cape Canaveral, FL on our way to Cocoa Beach.  Earlier that morning should've held much promise.  We were set to view the space shuttle launch!  Sophia and I meticulously planned.  We read numerous books on astronauts and outer space, we packed 2 pairs of binoculars and my child knew all about gravity.

 Much to our disappointment, the shuttle launch was delayed. 

 I was really looking forward to experiencing that overwhelming patriotic feeling that consumes me when placed in such situations.  That combined with my unyielding attraction to astronauts...oh, and fighter pilots.  

Yes, Jason understands his competition.

I gave myself a moment to reflect on the lost experience and immediately turned my attention to more pressing matters.

"Sophia, sweetie....I really need you to focus when we get to the beach. Just 3 minutes of smiles and then we can get into your swim suit and play!"

Dressed in a delicate, white and pink flowing gown she knew well of my grand scale plans for an oceanfront photo shoot.

The original intent was to hire a FL photographer to meet us at Cocoa Beach and do a professional layout, but once I realized that Sophia's "hoopla" of a skirt wasn't getting anywhere near our luggage I had to kill that dream.  Carrying it on wasn't an option.  I was traveling alone with the two girls and I couldn't bear the added responsibility of ensuring the skirt's save arrival.

These elaborate bottoms have a name you know....petty skirts.  

All was working out to my advantage.  Juliet had fallen asleep as we arrived so my Mother -in-Law could sit in the car with her while Sophia and I got down to business.

Entering the beach area we immediately saw a group of men battling their affliction for nicotine.  It instantly brought me back to my childhood days of picking the white paper out of my sand bucket.  I will never grasp how people can fill their bodies with this carcinogen and then dispose of it in the pristine sand.  The ocean is one of God's amazing wonders and engaging in unhealthy activities there seems a bit off.

We left the gentleman to their obvious weaknesses and danced down to the water.

Seeing the sprawling Atlantic ocean with its gentle waves......waves creating a snow white foam that nipped ever so gently at our toes.... left me awestruck.  Completely taken.

I found myself jogging slowly through the shallow water, light wind blowing my hair, thin white cover-up rustling behind me.  The hot pink petty skirt wasn't the only casualty.  My ultra feminine beach hat collection was tucked comfortably away in Dallas as well.  Quite the accessory that would've made at this particular juncture.

An over sized hat and of course, the professional photographer in tow.

Yes, we were "that" family on the crowded beach.  Obviously overdressed and a bit too excited to be there.  Just wait beach patrons---what you don't know is that a smaller size petty skirt does fit into the luggage--- and Juliet was about to make her appearance.

Look closely at these pictures.  Brush aside the wildly distracting boutique outfits.  See my daughter's eyes.

I captured exactly what I was looking for that afternoon....

The unstructured exploration of childhood.

At The CrossRoads

Sophia and I had a rare morning to spend together today.  We did a few errands in preparation for our big trip to Disney World on Monday.  After we completed them, I wanted to stop by Hobby Lobby to get Juliet's picture framed.

I had chosen it with the utmost care.  It's the portrait that will hang directly above her bed.  Yes, she is 8 months old and while she currently sleeps in her crib we already have her big girl bedroom set up. 

 It actually shocks me that I haven't mentioned I am planner, to a fault.

I think your bedroom and its decor is an instrumental part of growing up.  I can remember sitting and reading for hours, lounging as you fall off to sleep or just daydreaming in a quiet moment.  What you look at on the walls is influential and should invoke thought. 

 Think of the stark business offices most people sit in.  Occasionally there is a "motivational" art piece in a  thin plastic frame encouraging you to climb that mountain or finish that race.   Employees, some for decades, will derive feelings from that lone statement and you want them to be positive in the very least.  

For me, an obvious example comes to mind.   Bambi and her journey to taxidermy. When I enter the home of a family that kills innocent animals for sport I go through a range of unsettling emotions that certainly don't leave me feeling better about myself.  Rage, Sadness, Ignorance, Conservative politics and occasionally just a really upset stomach.  

While it took awhile for me to decide on Juliet's main wall piece, it finally came to me. 

A unicorn with its baby foul.

As Juliet matures, it is my sincere hope that she explores and processes all that this mystic creature represents.

In my mind, that being:

Unorthodox beauty

Tenacity to survive in lieu of scrutiny

Comfort with solitude

It does not surprise me in the least that we began talking with a 17 year old High School senior and her mother in the art section.  The sweet girl actually looked at me and Sophia and told me that Sophia would believe I hung the moon until age 13.  Then others had the distinct opportunity to shape her world alongside me.   This was how she felt for her mother.  She then went on to say that the feeling came back and that her mother did indeed hang the moon!  I saw that moment of joy in her mother's eyes as she looked up in pride at a job obviously well done.  I took comfort in the emotional maturity this young woman represented.  

Astonishingly she looked over at my portrait and she and her mother exclaimed, "I have a unicorn above my bed!"   Throughout the teenage years and many room redecors, she'd always kept her framed picture of the unicorn.  She said it was calming and was quite possibly the reason she owned, showed and road 3 horses.

I suppose I didn't consider the financial implications of condoning such a portrait.  I was more hoping Juliet would grasp the philosophical  attributes of this creature.

The vibrant teenager went on to say that she was leaving for college in September, but wasn't quite sure if she would go to NY to study theatre or Baylor for Business.  I glanced at her mother and caught my heart in my throat.  That internal struggle must be maddening!

 Dramatic expression on a theatre stage OR contribution to a product and/or services bottom line?

 It takes my breathe away that this girl is torn between 2 polar opposite worlds.  Depending on your level of artistic expression being in a structured corporate world as an EXPRESSIVE creative person will suck the life out of you.   Attending theatre classes when you'd rather be behind a laptop would be wildly contrastive.

When all is said and done,  the mystery of the unicorn that should be inviting Juliet on an exploration of exemplary personality traits will either have Jason and I paying a 2nd mortgage on boarding, feeding and grooming a horse or will result in Juliet deciding between accepting the professional tennis scholarship or enjoying her days as a museum curator. 

A mysterious creature that unicorn is.

The Financial Impact of Personification

I personify most things.

The other day I was enjoying an afternoon conversation with my new neighbor and friend.  She was sharing with me how they had chosen their home.  We were discussing the various spec homes available in our community and upon mention of one that I enjoyed I interjected how lovely "she" was.

Stephanie immediately picked up on the reference and asked if I spent time in France.  The French personify everything-she'd lived there for a few years.

I pondered how cultured I could sound if the reply was, "Of course I've spent time overseas, most particularly in a quaint village in southern France.  Please join me chez moi, it would give me great joy to share my fine art collection with you."  This would also have met my unending desire to use some of the French I took in High School.

I decided against this.

I also couldn't bring myself to share landscape stories of the 4 years I spent in Central Illinois for college.

I just personify.  Plain and simple.  I don't even realize it.

After being shouted a particularly loud and happy greeting at the Starbucks drive thru this morning, I placed my order for a tall decaf mocha and decided to step outside my comfort zone.

I was talking to my friend Jennifer last night at 5:00 p.m.  She was in the Starbucks drive thru and ordering a vendi beverage and oatmeal.  The late evening beverage order left me aghast, while the oatmeal intrigued me.  She ordered it with brown sugar and attested to its tastiness.

What the heck?  I'll try an oatmeal, too please.  On this lovely morning, I might add.

The fast talking gentleman asked me if I wanted brown sugar, fresh fruit and numerous other toppings.  Nothing was appealing in terms of garnishes, so I said, "No thank you, just a naked oatmeal."  He laughed and I heard him share the comment with his fellow coworkers.  

Well I might as well just pack up the day and go to bed.  It's not going to get any better than this.  I was just funny.  And making a Starbucks employee laugh is icing on the cake because they don't hire uninteresting people.

It did get better and it was only 8:42 a.m.

I pulled up and cringed as I usually do when paying ample of amounts of currency to feel high for a few hours.  The outspoken gentleman with entertaining glasses told me that the car in front of me had paid my bill.  The man had heard my "naked oatmeal" comment and said that may be the hardest he's laughed in a long time and he would like to pay for my order.

While simultaneously reveling in my financial streak of luck and renewed trust in the downright goodness of people, I silently wondered how everyone didn't have the same views.

If oatmeal is left untopped....isn't she indeed, naked?

 

The Nostalgic Power of a Taco

Completely unplanned and yet another Karmic mystery of why life keeps certain people close together, my dear friend Claudia and I both relocated to Dallas from San Antonio within weeks of each other.

Last week, we were hungry.  Famished, really.  The kind of hunger that only the Las Palapas Bean and Cheese Breakfast Taco could satisfy.

We FaceBooked our San Antonio friend Wendy with what we thought to be an ordinary request.    Wendy, an unlikely candidate for ever consuming such artery clogging bliss, but the kind of friend who doesn't judge you because you eat 2 a day....everyday.

The request:  please go to the Las Palapas drive thru, pick up 30 bean and cheese tacos with a commiserate amount of brown salsa to match (think quarts) and find the nearest UPS store who will so graciously dry ice our delicacy and have them delivered by morning.

Thursday morning proved challenging.  Things always happen for a reason in my world.  Perhaps I was delayed by this slow truck because I will be avoiding an accident ahead, perhaps this banana has a spoiled spot on it and I cannot eat it because I would've had a choking accident,  my shoe lace is untied and I have to take 3 seconds to retie it, allowing me to avoid that water spill which would've tripped me and left me out cold.  

What then?  I only move the juice, water and dry goods to the lowest pantry shelf before I go to bed when Jason is out of town.  In the event I die in my sleep, Sophia will need to nourish herself when she wakes up.  I certainly don't plan on an afternoon tragedy to knock me out.

You see why I smile as I tie my shoelace.

I believe nothing is as it seems and delays in life that other's find frustrating, I take comfort in because everything happens as it should.  I never say, "if only......"

Juliet and I left the house at 10:30 for her 11:45 a.m. doctor's appt.  I am notoriously early for absolutely everything, except invitations to people houses, which just isn't polite, if you invite me for 5:3o I will arrive at 5:30.  I understand that every second is needed to prepare for guests.

We are headed toward the city at a comfortable 55 mph on a sunny day.  I am looking for 390 15th street.  My GPS and mapquest both say it's only 8 miles away and a 15 minute drive.  All of the addresses that I am passing are in the thousands, from 1000-5000 and there isn't a medical center in site, only strip malls.  My pride had me back and forth on 15th street for over an hour and believe it or not, I handled it well.  Every single New Year's Eve, I vow to find patience and I was doing an exemplary job while explaining to Juliet that she had an intelligent mother who could certainly find a building. 

 I finally decided to call because it was 11:30 and our appt. was in 15 minutes.  I was starting to sweat, which frequently happens if anyone has the possibility of attaching my name to being late.  I silently gave myself a pat on the back for always filling out and printing paperwork before we go to an appt.  Surely I was only minutes away, could easily put Juliet in the stroller and take an elevator up to my appt. by 11:45.

I was stuck in a phone tree.  The resounding theme was that the phones turn off between 11:30 and 1:30 for lunch.  I called back numerous times because surely there was an opt out to get an operator for situations such as mine.   And, most importantly no one eats lunch for 2 hours.  Perhaps it's my ignorance of the medical profession, but they had to be doing paperwork or getting ready to return calls.  In my corporate world, you eat at your desk or you don't eat.

It was now after 11:45 and I am sweating from every orifice.  The terrible kind of sweat where you are in your car with a jacket on and suddenly that bright, sunny day is being used against you as it pours in the windows.

I have left a woman named Rita 3 messages to call me back.  I need directions and my daughter needs to be seen today.  We waited a month for this appt.  

Why was Lavenda failing me?  

Lavenda is our appropriately named GPS.  She earned the name from our "doesn't quite meet expectations" realtor that showed us Dallas this summer.  Lavenda and her equally exemplary husband knew nothing of this area, including obvious school district information and relied solely on their newly purchased Global Positioning System to find each and every house we looked at.  Need to remind you Juliet was 4 weeks old and I was nursing.  Postpartum and moving don't work well together and hearing Lavenda calmly order me right and left and back right again in circles was a painful memory of the elite at Coldwell Banker.

I drove home and watched the clock.  Exactly as I expected, the phone rang at 1:30.  Rita explained she had received my messages, but she was eating her lunch.  Just like I teach Sophia, I took a deep breath after hearing the confirmation that she indeed was enjoying a 2 hour lunch.  Regrettably there was an error on their paperwork and the address was 3900 15th.  I took another deep breath and wondered how in the world people keep their jobs?  If she knew of the error, she couldn't log online and correct it by simply adding another "0."  I suppose she was busy dining.  Of course, I was the one with the medical needs so I had to concede.  She fit us in an hour later.

After my sweet daughter had a wire stuck down her tear duct to try and unclog it,  Sophia and I left with a traumatized screaming baby who was bleeding from her eye and took quite sometime to fall asleep in the car. 

Claudia called.  I couldn't wait to share my latest customer service experience with her.  It turns out there was no time for that--the tacos were at her door!

I dropped Sophia off to play with her daughter Claire and left with my jewels.  I wanted to drive around and keep Juliet asleep.

Ideally, Claudia and I should've enjoyed our tacos together in complete silence (the rarity of this consumption now puts a Las Palapas taco in the category of demanding solitude so as to fully enjoy the experience).

Things happen as they should.  I couldn't wait any longer so I pulled into my driveway and hope d that Juliet stayed asleep.  I ran in and used my "reheat" feature on the microwave, which by the way, grows on me more and more everyday.  I got back into the car with my two perfect tacos and dipped them into what I believed to be salsa spiked in my honor!  It had never had more kick!  

Immediately I was sick was nostalgia.  I told you that smells do this to me.  

I was glad I was alone for this ride.  

It literally and figuratively all came back to me.  

 Sweet Tiffany introducing me to the breakfast taco at Harcourt in 2004.  Nonchalantly inviting me to "grab a taco" at 7:45 a.m. -- always up for an adventure....I thought, why not? I found out that beans and ketchup didn't taste any different at the start of a day.  You can see my novice here...dipping it in ketchup rather than salsa.

Or, being in labor with Sophia and gently reminding my doctor of our conversation beforehand.  I get cranky and lightheaded if I don't eat, I will need to eat at the hospital.  He smiled and went back on our agreement --citing legal reasons.  Since I wasn't in "active" labor I could go home and enjoy chicken broth.  I opted for the Las Palapas 3 chicken enchilada platter with beans and rice.  I devoured it at 7:15 p.m., laid down and my water broke at 7:29.

Or, keeping our 12 month old Sophia and Claire in their car seats while Claudia and I enjoyed tacos in the front.  Yes, most mornings.  And, of course, the sweet old lady in the parking lot with the hundreds of pigeons she fed was equally as pleasurable.

Dropping Sophia off at school when I was pregnant, picking up my tacos and sitting on my sunshine filled patio.... dreaming of what my new little girl would be like.

The memories raced past me like a wild dream and for a moment I was incredibly homesick, but so thankful for the trip down memory lane.

$90 and change for that special delivery.  

Claudia called today with the "shakes" because she had consumed her last taco.  That's what she gets for sharing them with her husband and children.

Me....i'll always keep mine to myself.

 

A FaceBook Entry

I need sleep and my sweet Juliet has been teething this week, so when she goes to bed, I jump right in behind her because I know we'll be up a few times.

That being said, I am know I am letting down my fans by not having any blogs this week. 

Don't you enjoy how I assume so many people are reading this and actually care about my entries?

Here's a little "cheat" from FB.

25 Things About Me

1.  I am a morning person.  Nothing like enjoying a hot chocolate as the sun rises and dreaming of what the day holds.  If you called me at 6 a.m. you'd get a much different Tracy than 6 p.m.

2.  I adore old people.  There is nothing sweeter to me than a smiling, wrinkled gentleman with a walker.  I have been known to stop and talk for hours to complete strangers.  I steal their wisdom shamelessly, for they have lived.  I try ridiculously hard to help even the crankiest of old people smile for the day.

3.  I am a Democrat.

4.  I am married to a Republican.

5.  I love Marketing.  Especially for small businesses.  The strategy behind launching and continually increasing revenue and exposure for a product doesn't even feel like work to me.  The secret is....you are positioning the person, not the material item or service. A theme that resonates in so many areas of life.

6.  I don't enjoy being thin.  Sadly,the grass is always greener...this is the year I will tone my body and find some curves!

7.  I pay exhorbent amounts of money to have Chicago style pizza shipped to Dallas on dry ice.  The same can now be said of Las Palapas Breakfast Tacos from San Antonio.

8.  I think I am incredibly funny.  If you want to be my friend, laugh with me, laugh at me....I don't care, let's just smile together.

9.  I wish I could play the piano.

10.  I worry that I am not a good enough friend to those I love.

11.  Not by design, most of my significant relationships in life are with people considerably older than me.

12.  I really can't stop talking.

13.  I ask a lot of questions.  I want to learn  more.  I will challenge you on your opinions.  Don't just share them, be prepared to back them up with experiences from you life that you helped you formulate them.

14.  Scents can transport me back in time.  Smelling Sun Ripened Raspberry Victoria Secret lotion will immediately throw me back to junior year of college.

15.  I have no common sense.  You don't want me to list examples, they are painful.  Let me redeem myself, I am book smart.

16.  I wish I could drink coffee.  It might be the marketer in me, but I long to sit in Starbucks with a latte.  A tall hot chocolate doesn't work, I've tried it.

17.  I can people watch all day long.   Airplane delays are my dream (as long as they haven't put me on the aircraft yet!)

18.  Occasionally, I find a food that tastes so good in my mouth that I demand complete silence at the table so I can fully enjoy it.

19.  Call me naive, but I think my girls have a real opportunity to grow up in a world where people's skin colors and religious beliefs are null and void.

20.  I take the hottest showers.  So much so that I often have to sit down afterwards.

21.  I have secretly been designing my Kentucky Derby hat for years.  2010 is the year of my attendance!

22.  I pray everyday that Jason and I are good examples to our children.  I pray hard.  Gosh, I want so much for them in terms of a life full of compassion, self respect and dignity.

23.   Thinking back to my childhood gives me a happy, peaceful feeling.

24.  I've recently started a blog and discovered I love writing!  Run on sentences and all!

25.  After 5 years, I love Texas, but am not entirely used to it.  The dead animals garnishing furniture and mantels, sweet Bambi being served with a smile at dinner parties and having to ask where the key to the gun case is at every new friend's house is exhausting.

and my favorite.

26.  I love pregnancy pics.  I have a 16 x 20 of myself on canvas.

I can't stop editing this.

27.  I had platinum blond hair in college.

28.  Everytime Jason travels overnight I have a friend call me at 7:30 a.m. to confirm that I did not die in my sleep.  In preparation,  before I go to bed I move water, juice and dry goods to a low shelf in the pantry so that Sophia can reach them and nourish herself in case I died.

If any of my therapist friends want to offer me a complimentary consultation, obviously I will accept.

29.  I am the stiffest dancer you will ever be in the presence of.  My wedding was the first time I was really feeling good about my "skill."  I felt the beat in my arms, legs and even a tiny bit in my hips!  OMG was I loose!  I had never been so loose in my life.....and the range of movement I had found!  Surely Jason was proud as I entered the center of the big circle and moved so freely during my solo.

Weeks later, the wedding video proved otherwise.