My kids are gone.
My parting words: Do not come back with stories involving the police!
Their response: What will we have to talk about at Peter Piper then?
My secret weapon: getting my hair washed.
I get my hair cut maybe every 9 months. I’m not sure why. I let it grow to the point it’s completely unreasonable (not unmanageable, mind you—unreasonable). And then I get it thinned and chop it off. And maybe five months later I get it thinned again. And then I wish for long hair again. Because, like my hair, I am unreasonable. I don’t do upkeep. I do overhauling.
Once or twice in those off months, I drop into my nearest budget haircut place and just get my hair washed.
It’s five bucks for fifteen minutes of bliss. My hair feels half as heavy as it did, and it smells AMAZING (currently like oranges and ginger). And I am happy.
*Seniors approach my door carrying water guns
*I open the door bearing a much bigger water gun
Senior A: I bet it’s not even loaded.
*I shoot him in the chest
*Senior A looks down at his wet t-shirt
Senior B: Well, that wasn’t very professional.
Me: There is no professionalism in war.
Senior B: Oh, shit.
Spinach, green onions, goat cheese, and balsamic chickpeas all drowned in balsamic glaze.
I win.
A senior wiped frosting all down the side of my face and neck.
I hid behind a pillar, sent him a text, waited until he was looking down, and got him right in the face with an entire cupcake.
I really want to do yoga, but I’ve been wearing frosting for 5.5 hours now.
Traditionally the day before graduation the seniors torture the underclassmen with water guns.
They don’t know that I’ll be packing.
What’s that quote from The AristoCats? “Ladies don’t start fights, but they can finish them.”
I know how important it is to give up our expectations of perfection in any arena of our lives. I know I’ve tried hard; and yet, every once in a while, I’ll entertain the old longing: ‘Maybe if I could make at least one perfect segment of a program…,’ and I find myself in the trap again.
That doesn’t mean we can’t produce some highly satisfying moments both for ourselves and others, but it’s important to give up—maybe daily—the longing to be perfect. Of course, I think we want it so strongly because we reason that if we are perfect (if we do a perfect job), we will be perfectly loveable. What a heavy burden! Thank God we don’t have to earn every bit of love that comes our way.
Dear Self,
It’s 3:35 on the Friday of the last working weekend of the school year, and you snuck out on time. Why are you still wearing pants? Fix that, would you.
If R knew how I used her house when she’s gone, she’d never let me come back.
| R: | We should be back around two am. Can you leave a pillow and my favorite blanket on the couch for me? Is it sad I have a favorite blanket? |
| Me: | Um, I brought my pillow AND my favorite blanket over to your house to sleep with. |
| R: | This is why we're friends. |
| Me: | Obviously. |
My spot at the BFF’s. When I am here, no one else may sit there. Because it’s my spot.
When your activity of choice creeps into author’s taglines #books #Yoga #book #asking #askthepassengers #YA
