Well, there it is, out in the open. I’m Not Funny. Ergo, therefore, I don’t write much. I wish I was witty with panache and shebang, but I really I’m quite shebang-less at the moment. However, my dear Planet Teenage Boy citizen did write in a construction paper card that not only am I the best mom in the world, I am also magical. Pause for appropriate effect….. So how many of you moms out there are jealous, eh? Not many of them PTB’ers are capable of using such adjectives, much less appropriating them toward the One Who Gave Them Birth.
So I’m not funny, just a little bit magical.
Moms of teenagers do not like being in the passenger seat when our beloved Planet Teenage Boy (PTB) citizen is driving and decides that he “has” to cut someone off. If you are a mom with a PTB/PTG citizen and feel I am taking liberties with this statement, please feel free to express your willingness to get yourself killed by teenage offspring in the comments. I will update this post as necessary. I am still unsettled about my helpless position during my brush with death this morning on the way to school. Helpless beyond the screaming and yelling at the top of my lungs, that is, but I remain confident my input was somewhat effective if only to equally scare the bejeebers out of my Newly-Licensed Teenage Boy in the moment.
Of course, my PTB Citizen found the nastiest old guy (yeah, I know, who’s talkin) with the shortest temper on Earth to cut off. Thus we had war between the Old Guys and the Teenage Boys occur on our normally peaceful roads this morning, with me and all of my Mom-ness literally a captive audience. Let’s see, first OG flipped off TB, which TB found shocking, then OG chased us down, cut us off and tried the I’ll-teach-you-a-lesson-by-suddenly-slamming-on-my-brakes-in-front-of-you thing twice, allowing TB to show off his “skills” by swerving and testing the limits of our Minivan’s Antilock Braking System. Fittingly, OG’s license plate proudly states he is a “Dad,” and I must say the maturity level verified it. While I’m exceedingly grateful that OG’s wife didn’t let him pack the gun this morning, the whole flipping/chasing/lesson-teaching thing was not an effective example of mature conflict resolution skills for my citizen of Planet Teenage Boy. “Whoa, that guy has a temper!” was foremost in our debriefing.
Creatively productive. There’s the holy grail. To express the fullness of my potential as a unique individual and somehow do it well enough and often enough to get paid for it. Which is more important? Caitlin Kelly blogs about this and points out some of the beloved irony of us creative types — she won a Canadian National Magazine Award for humor for an essay about her divorce. Humor and divorce really don’t seem to go together, but that’s probably what made it work. I will spare you all the make lemonade with the lemons of life metaphor (whoops, that didn’t work.) In Real Life we must be productive, but do we put the cart in front of the horse with our focus on quantity? I am fascinated by Austin Kleon’s advice not to wait around until you know yourself to make things. Just make things, which leads to knowing yourself and thus the well of human creativity.
People tend to be amused by my eccentric creativity, but where is it’s value? That’s the big question. What makes a painting created by random slinging and splattering worth thousands of dollars, or not? I’ve got some pretty amazing metaphors and word plays up my sleeve, but what makes it marketable? Austin Kleon’s work, Newspaper Blackout, is a smash hit, but does the monetary value lie in the use of markers on newspaper? Would people value the same poetry if it were just typed out on regular ole paper? People are funny like that. Some things are perceived as wickedly cool, while others are relegated to lame gimmicks. I happen to think Austin’s work is Wickedly Cool, by the way. Does anyone care about the monetary value of Mom-ness? Is my in-depth research on the citizens of Planet Teenage Boy and Planet Teenage Girl significantly marketable? I have lots of creativity, but creating productively is the heaven to which I aspire.
Image via Galerieopweg
Came from my hubby when we first got married. I had been a needleworker of various sorts for many years, but without anything more than the dime store cheap plastic frame that came with the kit to display my work. My wonderful hubby took my most recent and rather large needlework and had it professionally matted and framed. Is My Husband Awesome Or What?! He took something that obviously was valuable to me, or I wouldn’t have created it in the first place, and gave it honor and beauty. No amount of diamonds could ever replace that.
The Irony. I just got back on track with Post A Day, and today’s question requires the impossible. Which music act in history would I, a Deaf individual, like to see? At least the question is accurate, as I wouldn’t be able to hear anything. Nonetheless, since I lost my hearing 13 years ago and was not born Deaf, I do have the ability to extrapolate what music I would want to hear — if I could. Very definitely would be John Tesh Live At Red Rocks concert, as in, to be there live, fully able to hear and enjoy. Awesome. I know my music knowledge is de facto dated, but I still remember the fascinating sounds of what seems to be a musical genre of it’s own — “Tesh music.” You can call it whatever you want, but you can’t put it in a box… Classical, contemporary, rock? Yes and no. All I really want to tell you readers is to shut up and listen! Because You Can.
For all my fellow deafies, I think you’ll agree with me that Sean Forbes has the best music to see.
The most extreme, risky insane moment of my life occurred Today. With gasoline at $4 a gallon and nary a salary in the house, I live on the edge by pushing the limits of functional capability of a minivan. According to my on-board logistical probability screen thingy, I have been driving with zero miles left on my less-than-a-gallon “filled” gas tank for at least 24 hours now. Brazenly throwing caution to the wind, I once again set out to prove the legendary risk taking of which I am indeed capable. I drove to work…. fully aware that on-board technology had informed me I could drive Zero More Miles on the gasoline in my tank, and work is, uhhhhh, 8 to 10 miles or so away. This type of risk taking behavior can quickly improve your spiritual life (“Help me get there, Lord!”) Seriously, this is white-knuckling, heart pounding, extreme risk taking of epic proportions. Did I make it?
I know, I’m a day off on the Post A Day thing, so sue me. “Plan B: What Do You Do When God Doesn’t Show Up the Way You Thought He Would? by Pete Wilson (no, not that one, another one) changed my life because it challenged the idea that somehow we are “suppose” to have easy carefree lives without any troubles, mean people, tragedies or conflicts. While most of us will say we don’t expect life to be perfect, I don’t see a long line of people to sign up for the hard stuff. We don’t deserve exclusive blessings, nor do we deserve a certain quota of tragedies. Why do babies die? I Don’t Know. If I knew everything, I wouldn’t be sitting around blogging. We are simplistic beings, like 2 yr olds whining because they can’t have a cookie, or worse, because they have to eat vegetables. However, God is more like a Rubik’s Cube Kind of God– there’s a lot of complicated stuff that affects other people which affects other people, and so on. Did I want to be in a major car crash with a permanent injury so that my friend could mention the name of Jesus in a country hostile to Christians because he was only repeating what one of those “American people” had told him? Glad it blessed somebody in some other country where it’s way harder to survive than my struggle not to drive across the street to get a soda, but I still really hated physical therapy. This book taught me to stop fighting what’s actually happening and let Someone who actually has a clue about managing the universe handle it. Stuff is gonna happen. Usually it does. Be ready for the “Plan B” and recognize that just because you feel out of control doesn’t mean He is out of control.
Would I go for a day with the ability to read minds? Yes. Just for the fact that it would Help Me Grasp Reality and relieve feelings of paranoia that people are thinking ill of me. I know it’s a psychological fact that mainly, people aren’t thinking about you at all–positive or negative. But I think a day of reading minds would definitely bring that concept home. Most people have no idea you suspect they have malicious thoughts about you. I have often seen a person not even being aware there was a big “problem” between them and another person which was so “obvious” to the other person Based Completely On Their Perceptions. Yet, it is a human tendency to suspect others are judging and opining about me. Of course, as this is complementary to the idea that I am the center of the universe. Bring on reality! Hooray For Truth!
This really sounds shallow, but my magical tree at the moment would grow money. I told you…. really shallow. But I never expected unemployment to turn my family upside down for 9 months and counting. We are wayyyyy past just “making do” and “cutting back on Starbucks.” Tired of Big Decisions including whether to buy toilet paper or milk. While I know that money most definitely cannot buy you everything, and certainly cannot buy you happiness or peace, at the moment it would really be nice to pay off bills and go to the store with the ability to actually buy normal food. This economy thing is dragging on and on and on, like a really bad nightmare. So my magical tree wouldn’t bring world peace or serenity at the moment…. just looking for sanity.
Where I grew up, we walked around and thru many fields of beans, strawberries, apricots, you name it. One on every corner with fresh powerful tasting fruits and veggies. Last month they built a strip mall on top of largest field still actually growing fruits and vegetables. Only one field left, a small strawberry field that I pray will be allowed to continue it’s existence. This strawberry field is a memory of friendlier times without warehouse stores, where you didn’t stop at the gas station to get junk food, you just pulled over at one of the many fruit and vegetable stands and bought something fresh from the harvest. No freezers, partially-hydrogenated vegetable oils, and yet, kids liked them!