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What are you most proud of?

Lauren

It’s an interesting question.

And the answer to “what are you proud of” has pretty normal answers. (I’d say my marriage and my children- but those feel more like winning the lottery than something I can take credit for) So… graduating college. Some trophies I got during my teenage years. Becoming an instructor in karate. Being promoted. This career I’ve worked hard at. Buying a house. The occasional exuberant spring show on my roses… And some others.  And I am proud of those, I am. But no. What comes to mind when I think of the thing I am most proud of is a day I was sitting sullenly on a shuttle bus- heading to take a final at UT Austin.

on-the-bus-1532598-640x480

I was behind on my studying. It was much too early for me at the time- crack of 8:30am- and it was before my enthusiastic leap into the caffeinated world of coffee. So there I was- hair a mess and wearing a dog hair covered t-shirt. I’d timed my entry on the bus to snag one of the last seats so I could read my textbooks- cramming furiously. And yes- that means some pretty callous line cutting was committed by yours truly. And I was wearing uncomfortable shoes. I had about 5 years there of just uncomfortable, cheap shoes. I was 21, maybe 22.  And sullen. Don’t forget sullen. Painted that less than rosy picture yet? Okay. Moving on.

So a young mother and her toddler daughter get on a few stops later. There were no seats left. And nobody gave up their seat. Not any of the guys. Not any of the people on their phone or staring off into space. And so I – notebook and textbooks in my lap- offer her (sullenly, I’m sure) my seat. She turned me down, shyly. Politely. And so she stands there, holds her little girl’s hand in one hand, and holds onto the seat rest right behind me with the other. And… I know how precarious that is. Those shuttle drivers  were quick to brake, and even faster to accelerate. I’d seen people fall before. People who weren’t holding onto children.

And so… I had this weird tension. And I guess it was attentiveness, but not to the studying I needed to do. So when we braked suddenly, and that young mother pitched forward and would have fallen on her daughter- I caught her. I grabbed her upper arm and jerked her backwards. It happened really, really fast- but I was ready for it. Later, walking to class my right arm hurt from the force I used- I’m sure I left a mark on that poor lady. I stood up (dropping one of my books in the process) and told her to sit. She again tried to refuse, but I made her take the seat. She sat and put her daughter on her lap. I awkwardly picked up my book and stood in her previous spot. I had to put my books up in my backpack so I could hold on with both hands- there would be no more studying. My feet hurt. It was another 30 minutes to campus.

I bolted off the bus(sullenly, still, I’m sure) and trudged off to class so I could sit in the hall and try to finish my studying and then a few hours later took a test for a subject I can’t recall now. I have no idea what grade I got.

And yet- it feels like I passed the test that counted that day. And I may not have passed with flying colors or anything. But still.

It’s what I’m most proud of.

And another thing…

Lauren

If the quote had been- “I can do what I want- punch them in the back of the head- and I can do it because I’m famous. I just can’t stop myself. I don’t even ask I just start punching” – this would be a much more clear cut argument, right?  That’s assault! End of story! You sick bastard!

But you take it into the muddy world of female sexual identity and societal perception of collective ownership of the female form… well that gets a little harder to wade through. Because the boundaries are blurred (They really shouldn’t be, this should really be quite clearcut here.) and what is even seen as impinging  gets muddy.

Let’s break it down:

Who can impinge? (No one, you ass.) What action is impinging? (If you have to ask- then that.) Is impinging so commonplace that it’s seen as okay? (Short answer yes. Long answer… also yes. Damn.) Is that how you spell impinging? (Turns out yes.) Is impinging really the right word I should be using here? (Ah. Yes, the perfect one. High five, Vocabulary.)

 

 

I am thankful that all the Trump signs make it easy to figure out where to not go trick or treating.

Parenting Advice: Kill the Pajamas

Lauren

Baby sleepers and pajamas are ADORABLE. And I still have some. And my older girls still have pajamas- but DON’T YOU BUY THEM, IT’S A TRAP!!!!!

Look- it’s PERFECTLY acceptable for a baby to sleep in a long sleeve onesie, soft pants and socks. And guess what? You don’t get judge-y looks at the grocery store when they’re still dressed like that at 2 in the afternoon like you would if they were in a sleeper. And besides- diaper changes are easier like that. #somanybuttons

Older Kids: Soft leggings or cotton shorts and a teeshirt- perfectly acceptable to sleep in. And lookie there- that’s looking on the up and up if someone drops in at 2pm (why is it always 2pm? Shrugs.) and they’re still dressed like that! And maybe they go the whole day wearing those clothes! And then that’s an entire outfit (times THREE in our house!) that I don’t have to wash and fold! *Cackles maniacally and then starts crying while looking at laundry pile*

 

TL;DR: Don’t change your pants twice a day. (Is that the real lesson? Read the post then, Lazy.)

Random Thoughts

Lauren

I always weigh myself while brushing my teeth. Toothbrushes weigh a conveniently varying amount.

Babies don’t appreciate naps as much as they should, the unappreciative leeches.

About once a week my cat plays Gage and recreates that scene from Pet Cemetery if I walk past his empty food bowl one to many times. Ow, my god damn achilles tendon, cat!

I’d so much rather have indoor spiders than whatever bugs it is they’re surviving off of.

 

 

Character Stasis and why Han Solo Was My Seed Jar

Lauren

I’m late to the Star Wars the Force Awakens party. Considering I had my youngest 3 days after it’s release I think you’ll see why I hadn’t watched it before this point even though I love me some Star Wars. So we finally watched it on Saturday. I thought it was good- I liked the concept and visuals of all the war detritus a lot. What wasn’t okay? The death of my favorite character in a series I dearly loved and with whom I idolized as a kid. Teenager. And adult. Does Han Solo explain my undying love of vests? I’m almost positive. I never wanted to see that character change from the one I remembered and identified with.

There is comfort in a character’s stasis. According to Genetics, Paleontology, and Macroevolution by Jeffrey S. Levinson “Character stasis is simply where for a given morphological character, no temporal change occurs.” To extrapolate that out to fictional characters means to me that they should exist forever going out on top. And I know I’m not alone in getting comfort from that unchanging state of our beloved characters in their moments of glory. Or getting thrown off when it doesn’t happen like that.

When a character has an end… when the bracket is closed or the sentence is punctuated with something other than a dot, dot, dot it makes it hard to enjoy the good times when you know that bitter end is coming. Aramis leaves the other Musketeers to become a priest. Damn- that kinda changes everything when you read the book again from the beginning, you know? Robin Hood dies by being bled to death by an evil monk. Did not need to know that.  I actually don’t want to see Harry Potter as a middle aged dad on the platform sending his sons off to Hogwarts. Or know that Captain America gets shot and killed by his girlfriend. (Seriously- someone get Stan Lee on the phone. He has some ‘splaining to do!) And I sure as hell didn’t want to ever see the death of Han Solo. That just is NOT okay.

How do I explain this… some characters…they’re like the seed jar. And yes, that is a weird reference, but it stems from a Radiolab episode that I highly recommend… and will explain my thinking on the concept of character stasis. Maybe. It was a correlation I thought of immediately after we watched the movie. Below is the link to the podcast episode:

The Seed Jar by Radiolab

There is comfort is something, even just our perception of a character, unchanging- weathering all the storms and centuries and slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that I enjoy. The fact that life isn’t always pretty and that bad things can happen to even the best or most heroic people? I promise that isn’t lost on me, writers. In fact- it’s nice to escape that reality sometimes and say, watch a movie. OH WAIT.

 

 

Who Needs a Nightlight?

Lauren 1 Comment

We live in an old farmhouse… in the middle of our town. It’s great- I have a clawfoot tub and am just around the corner from a grocery store- best of both worlds! Except for the clawfoot tub part. Look, I love it, and since it’s original to the house we’ll never get rid of it. And I DO occasionally wonder how many babies have been born in it or old folks died in it. (Neither of which bother me. I do wonder though.) No, the part that does bother me is… WHO THE HELL WANTS TO MOP UNDER THEIR TUB? Gah! And how many square feet of spidery, cobwebby, dusty tile does that add for me to try to ignore and avoid cleaning on a weekly basis? The struggle is real.

And the tub? It wasn’t really the point of this post. What was the point (kinda? I’m the Grand Duchess of Digressions) are the windows. We have the original windows still so it’s hot in the summer. And SO cold in the winter. (I live in Texas. Whatever, it’s still cold.) And most of that is due to the gaps in the windows. They rattle. They separate. I could get an iPhone through a couple, I swear. And that means not only does cold/hot air get in… but also bugs. I’ve almost been hit in the head by a stinkbug in my own house… twice. Moths. Beetles. A bee one time that I very carefully caught and let go outside. A hoard of ladybugs when the weather gets cold. And yeah… that means the occasional roach too. ugh. But it also means that 4 or 5 times I’ve woken up in the night to see a firefly in our bedroom. And I know that means our house is as tight as a colander, but the sight of a firefly flitting around 16 foot tall ceilings at 2 am… it’s lovely in an amazingly romantic way. The MOST romantic “bugs getting in the house” story ever? Maybe.

New windows are making their way inexoribly our way though. They will happen out of shear necessity- the heat, the bugs… they play a role in the decision. But mostly it is the lead paint dust risk that is the deciding factor. Plus the bugs. Well, most of them at least. The fireflies? I sure will miss the fireflies.