Teachable Opportunities

Do you ever wonder how you know the things you know?

I don't mean, "I know that I am hungry and I know I do not want fried chicken livers...like...ever."

For example, how do I know Monet is pronounced Mo-nay and not Mo-net?  How did I learn this tidbit of information? And further...when did I learn it? Did I just assimilate it? Did I hear it somewhen (yes, somewhen), assume it was correct, and simply file it away in my Inner Library of Possibly Useful Information? I suspect it was the result of some unremembered teachable opportunity. Enough that I remembered the lesson, but not how or when I learned it.

Boy Child and I were discussing something he'd read and he mispronounced a word. I honestly am fuzzy on the details.  But I remember I corrected his pronunciation and his response to me was, "Whatever, you know what I mean."

OK - so aside from the almost-a-teenager attitude (a whole other blog post in itself) - I said something to the effect of, "No, not whatever. You need to know how to say the word correctly, for lots of reasons; not the least of which is so you don't look like a fool when you say it in front of someone other than your mother who loves you and is just trying to help."

Needless to say, he did not appreciate the teachable opportunity and, as I vaguely recall, it was early and I was still decaffeinated, I chose not to pursue it further.

Same thing happens with Girl Child, though her response is more along the lines of, "Well, that's how I say it, mo-om." As she typically is not a snot-nosed brat I am more concerned by her manner of response.  (Again, a whole other blog post in itself.)

We know it's raining because we can see it. We know it's cold because we can feel it. We know the sky is blue because...Science is a real thing. We know that education is important because who wants an ignorant generation to be responsible for taking care of us in our old age? (Among other reasons.)

OK - here's another one. How do we know how to balance a checkbook? No one ever actually taught me so I suppose I figured it out myself. Does that mean my logical side and my knowledge of basic math, plus my powers of deduction, worked hand-in-hand-in-hand to allow me to understand the method of the task? I don't know; possibly.

I guess my point in all this (if I really even have one) is this: There are a TON of teachable opportunities in life. Whether you're a parent, a friend, a concerned citizen, or a purple alien standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona... I think (and this is my opinion here) that if you do not take advantage of these teachable opportunities in order to help someone increase their understand and knowledge - regardless of subject - then you are selfish and they are missing out on some seriously cool learning. Plus...doesn't an ignorant generation scare the crud out of you? It does me!

TTFN
JMS

Odor Eaters

I find it hard to write anything flippant, or in the vein of my usual sarcastic posts, after my last post about the loss of my friend.  I cannot, however, continue to ignore the fact that my flippant and sarcastic ways are rearing their ugly heads sooner than I might otherwise like or deem appropriate.  So please forgive me for the sharp turn in the other direction.

***

There I am – sitting at my desk at the office – when I begin to realize that something is wrong.  It’s an odor.  An offensive odor.  A pervading, sickly sweet odor with an undercurrent of something else equally as off-putting.  Imagine if you will, a human body which has not seen a bath or a shower in several days coupled with layers of gardenia scent added in a failed attempt to mask the body odor.  I’m shuddering just remembering this.  It was nauseating.  And, though we who investigated still haven’t definitively solved the mystery of the awful, all-encompassing scent that permeated the entire east end of the building, it is gone now, hopefully never to return.

Why?  Why would I tell you this brief, but horrible story?  Simply this: There are some people who are of the mistaken belief that the world revolves around them.  Some of those same sadly misguided individuals also believe what they do (say/think) could not possibly affect anyone else.  And further, why would someone’s use of scent, in whatever form, be offensive to me?  Because, I happen to be one of those unfortunate individuals who is highly sensitive to scents, perfumes, colognes, after-shaves, scented candles…you get the picture.  They make my eyes water, my lungs seize (remember, I’m asthmatic), and even on occasion nauseate me – as was the case with the particular odor described above.

I would very much like to understand what possesses a person to continue to wear scent such as described above, to a place of business.  Has the media chatter (social or otherwise) over the last however many years not made you a believer in a non-scented workplace?  

To put it another way, how many times have you walked by the break room (should you be fortunate enough to have one at work) and wondered, “Good grief!  What is that smell?”  You know full-well that someone just reheated their garlic & onion salmon from the night before.  (I don’t know if there really is such a thing as garlic & onion salmon, but it was the most malodourous food I could think of on short notice.)  Or maybe someone just took their shoes off under the desk.  Either way, it stinks.  And that smell has now invaded the pores of your skin and you feel as if you are traveling with it wherever you go.  It’s off-putting, to say the least, and makes you really want to bathe.

Food odor issues at the workplace not-withstanding, let’s talk about personal scent.  Yup – we’ve all got one.  Our very own, gifted to us at birth, personal scent.  Not taking into account the soap and shampoo we may use at shower-time.  The deodorant we may use after bathing.  (Yes, please?)  And now, let’s consider it finished, shall we?  Pretty please?  You do not need two layers of scented body lotion, a dab of perfume behind each ear, at the base of your throat or on your wrists, or even that scented body spray.  And please, if you’re even considering patchouli, just…don’t.  You’ll do us all a favor.  However, if you feel you must apply so liberally the created scent as enhancement to your natural one – stay home.  No one particularly feels like smelling the odor-trail you’re leaving behind. 

Those of us trying to work will thank you.  You may not know we’re thanking you…but we are.  I promise.

TTFN
JMS

Girl Scout Cookie Madness

Ah – Girl Scout Cookie Season.  For our family, this is the first time we’ve been actively involved in Girl Scouts as girl-child only became a Brownie last autumn.  We’ve been involved with Cub Scouts and popcorn season because boy-child has been a Cub/Boy Scout since he was in Kindergarten, so we’ve got some experience.  But I’ll tell ya, Cub Scout Popcorn Season ain’t got nuthin’ on Girl Scout Cookie Season.  Not, at least, in my humble opinion.

Let me share with you, dear readers, tonight’s experience.

Setting: Wednesday night supper at church.

Crowd: A lot. Many. Maybe about 100 folks?  I didn’t count.

Mood: Generally happy.

Girl-child and hubby set up the cookies – which had been previously ordered and were now due to be delivered – on a table at the back of the room.  Mind you, there are three Girl Scouts who attend Wednesday night supper at church.  Three.  So when they were all actively selling, it was – needless to say – a bit chaotic.  Some folks were kind enough to purchase cookies from more than one of the girls – and even a few more were nice enough to purchase cookies from all three of them.  We know some wonderful and generous folks, that’s for sure.

Anyway – tonight was delivery night.  All boxes had been clearly labeled with the name of the person who had purchased them and also had been clearly marked as paid, or how much the customer still owed.  Good system.  So girl-child decides she wants my help.  Being the good mommy that I am (and lemme tell you, I’m a good momma) I got up to help.  And, so thinking, I started removing smaller boxes of cookies from the larger boxes they were in and arranging them in piles by customer name.  I was immediately told, “MOM!  I’m a GIRL SCOUT!  I can do this MYSELF!” 

Um…wow.  OK.  Didn’t you just tell me you wanted my help?

“YEAH!” she said, frustrated.  “But you’re not DOING it right!”

So I let her handle it, only stepping in occasionally when she couldn’t remember who someone was or to help her find where someone was sitting.

But here’s the thing – and something neither Hubby nor I was prepared to deal with: Folks kept coming up to us and saying, “Do you have any more?  Can I order or are you just delivering?”  We had to turn folks away because we didn’t buy any extras.  We could have gotten them, but it would have been another day or two before that happened.  Good thing the mom of one of the other Girl Scouts had the foresight to get extras and was able to fulfil these orders.  Hey – share and share alike, right?  A definite lesson learned: get extras!

I couldn’t believe how upset people were that we didn’t catch them when we were originally selling.  I had one guy say, “I can’t support you if I don’t know about it!  No one came to me or asked me anything.” 

Of course, I had to apologize and say that it was an oversight (because it was) and that this was girl-child’s first time selling cookies (because it was) and tell him that I can make sure he gets some (which was true).  All of which seemed to appease him.  But I think ultimately he would have been much happier if we’d come to him the first time around, rather than as an unfortunate afterthought - which, I believe, he thought it was and was, at least initially, miffed at having been excluded.

Because yeah – it was totally personal.                                          NOT!

But girl-child, well, I don’t have her take on this yet.  I am actually quite interested to hear what she thinks about all this cookie madness (‘cause it is…madness).  I’ll keep you posted.

TTFN

JMS

PS: Survey says: "It was fun."  (Said by a very tired girl-child, just now.)

Throwing snowballs at memories

All this snow and ice and wind and all the school closings and being around my kids, watching them react to everything, has brought me back, time and time again, to childhood and growing up in the North.

This morning, while listening to Pandora and Depeche Mode Radio (yup...still stuck on it), Pet Shop Boys were singing about West End Girls and I thought of my younger brother. A few days ago, he'd sent me (and boy-child) an email with a link to that song's video on YouTube. Apparently any time my brother hears music like that he thinks of me. So just a little while ago, when it came on Pandora, I sent him a text message just to say hello.

So, I guess you're probably wondering (besides the obvious) what one has to do with the other. Simply that one of my strongest memories of winter and childhood and North is the time that my brother and I (and a couple neighborhood kids, if I remember correctly) got it into our heads that it was a good idea to throw snowballs at passing cars...after dark. I don't remember who came up with the idea, and it doesn't matter, but we had fun. For all of about one minute.

One of the cars that received a barrage of snowballs stopped short in the middle of the street and the driver came flying out – FURIOUS – and chased us through the neighborhood. I remember being absolutely terrified that he'd catch us and it made me sick to think about how much trouble we would get in. I don't remember what happened to the other kids we were with, but I vaguely recall hiding in the bushes until the very angry driver man went away. It's all kind of a blur, actually. But my brother and I made it home safe and sound.

I don't really remember if our parents ever found out about that and I suppose, all these years later, it doesn't make any difference. The things we do as kids define us, in some way, as adults and I am sure, beyond a doubt, that was the first time I ever feared being caught for doing something I knew, deep down, probably wasn't a good idea. Which is probably why I never got into too much trouble growing up and in teenage years, and in my young adult life. Fear.

Oh, believe me, I had plenty of opportunities to get into a TON of trouble, but somehow I managed to keep myself together and stay out of it. I'm lucky. My life could have turned out so differently if I'd been even slightly less fearful of things.

It's interesting to me that as an adult I've shed a lot of my old fears and, in some cases, formed brand new ones; especially where my children are concerned. I fear for their health, well-being and safety more than anything else. It's the reason I get so upset when boy-child does something downright stupid and risks his own safety. I know, I know, boys do stupid things and at some point all of my fear for his safety and well-being isn't going to amount to a hill of beans and yes, he's going to have to learn his own lessons. But maybe, just maybe, while he's still young, I can instill some awareness in him that will protect him in some way when he's older?

I don't know. I'm sure he'll have his own throwing-snowballs-at-passing-cars-after-dark-and-being-chased-by-a-mad-man moment, but hopefully it will only serve to make him a better, more thoughtful person. I still haven't quite figured out what it did to me.

TTFN

JMS

Mornings in days of yore

You know how they say never to blog, post on social media, do anything or say anything about work because you run the risk of putting your job in jeopardy should someone take offense to something you’ve said or done?  This post isn’t that, I promise, but it does have to do with the fact that I have a job and how my current job has changed my home life for the better.  

A little over seven months ago I accepted a new job.  Taking into account my opening paragraph, I won’t talk about where I work or what I do at work except to say what you already know, I’m an administrative assistant.  I do that.  I love my job for lot of reasons, I truly do, but there’s one reason that overshadows all the others.  Since taking this job, I have been able to see my kiddos every morning.  This is something that has really never been possible before, either because of timing or because of distance.  I am absolutely so grateful for the close proximity of my new job and the fact that the time I start allows me to spend a little bit of time with my babies.

In days of yore, I was gone before they woke up.  At work before the sun even considered rising above the horizon.  Now, not only can I get a shower in the morning, I can help wake up my sleepy-headed girl-child.  Maybe help her figure out what to wear; help her get dressed. She requires a very steady hand, a gentle voice and lots of coaxing to rouse her from her slumber.  She does not like to get up and will do everything in her power to delay putting feet to floor.  And even with all the gentle coaxing, tickles, smiles and kisses in the hopes that she’ll smile and wrap her warm little arms around your neck, some days, it doesn’t matter one whit and she’s just gonna be a grump and everything is going to be wrong with her world.

I can talk about stuff with my always-ready-to-go-up-at-the-BCOD boy-child. He tends to be awake already when my alarm goes off and by the time I get out of the shower, he is happy and bouncy and full of it (you know when I mean).  He’s pretty self-sufficient but usually it’s when he’s trying to get dressed that he can’t find a pair of socks or he (in his mind) doesn’t have any clean jeans/t-shirts to wear or can’t find something he needs for school.  He’s kind of scatterbrained in that way, even though he’s so smart it’s scary.  Unfortunately, I think he gets the scatterbrain from his mom.  But he’s the complete and total opposite of his little sister.  She requires finesse.  He doesn’t.

They’re old enough now that they can get their own cereal, pour their own milk, and get their own spoons.  But I get to witness the fact that they’re eating a healthy breakfast.  I can help get them ready for the day.  I can spend time with them.  This is something that I’ve never had before.

Then, when I’ve got my jacket on and I’m pulling my keys out of my purse…all part of my new routine…my kiddos have started a routine, too.  They come away from the table where they’re munching on cereal to hug me – each in turn – and then, when I go into the kitchen to collect my lunch box (hubby packs my lunch, bless him) and kiss hubby on the cheek, I head to the front hallway on my way out of the house and find both kiddos, lined up in front of the door expecting more hugs.  It’s awesome.

Though I’m definitely not a morning person (my girl-child probably gets her intense dislike of mornings from me), I must admit mornings have become my favorite part of the day.

TTFN
JMS

Things that make you go EEEW!

We all have our things – things which might disturb us on a much, much deeper level than the obvious ick factor of said thing.  For example, for me, the word Moist is a serious EEEW!  Yes, we all know what the word means (well…I hope you know what it means) but aside from explaining the general dampness factor…well, actually, that’s kind of EEEW, too.  ((shudder))  OK – moving on.

Then there’s the whole getting-your-mouth-as-close-to-the-water-fountain-spout-as-possible-while-not-actually-touching-it thing.  There are folks who really must believe, in the deepest recesses of their minds, that the closer their mouths are to the spout, the fresher (maybe colder?) the water they’re drinking will be.  Not to mention the germy-er.   I mean, come on!  Have you ever really LOOKED at a water fountain spout while you’re drinking from it?  They’re gross!  Even if they’re cleaned regularly, there’s always some kind of gooey residue around the spigot.  It’s brown, or pink, or sometimes even greenish and I’m sorry, but there’s NO WAY you’re getting me close to that thing.  EEEW!

And ladies, let’s not forget the Fuzzy Bath.  (Guys – feel free to check out for a minute.  You may rejoin the conversation in the next paragraph.)  The Fuzzy Bath happens when a woman gets it into her head that a hot bath, maybe a book, a glass of wine (hm…) and possibly a candle or two is a wonderful idea, and possibly even necessary for survival or sanity.  (We’ve all been there.)  After a good soak, one thinks, Hm…I suppose I should shave my legs.  So, razor and soap (or gel shaving cream, if you prefer) in hand one begins the deforestation process.  After a while, you realize you’re sitting in a soupy miasma of soap or shaving cream residue, plus leg fur.  I’m sorry – I cannot continue.  A shower is then required to not only clean oneself, but also clean out the tub.

There’s also:

·         The Tub-Drain Fur-Ball

·         Vomit (of any kind, human or animal)

·         Breast-fed baby poop (sorry, truth)

·         Poop, in general.  Especially sidewalk poop.  Especially stepped-in sidewalk poop.

·         The Unknown Food Origin (UFO) from the Tupperware container in the fridge that you’re pretty sure was, at one point, solid, yet is now a liquid.  This requires simply throwing out the Tupperware container as it is no longer salvageable. 

·         Snot.  Especially wall-snot.  This occurs when young children dig for gold and then wipe on the nearest vertical surface.  It’s shiny.  Like dried egg yolk or high-gloss paint.

For my son, he says that the word Poop is his EEEW!  He also tacked on his extreme dislike for wet, squishy socks.  My daughter and husband both voted for vomit being their EEEW!  Oh - the list could go on and on.  And now that you're thoroughly grossed out...

TTFN
JMS

SERIES: Email Diseases: How they affect your life and how you can avoid them (Issue 1: Reply All Syndrome)

In my professional life as an administrative assistant, I see a lot of email.  And I mean a lot of email.  Tons.  I’ve seen all manner of badly written email.  SHOUTY CAPITAL LETTERS.  the perpetual lowercase user.  The Forgetter of Punctuation.  Let’s not forget individuals who do not care how a word should be used grammatically, or how it should be spelled; if it looks good, or perhaps is one of those words favored by that particular individual, even if it has nothing whatsoever to do with the context of what they are writing, they will use it.

Today, I shall touch upon something that, if I am being truthful, annoys the crap out of me.  Something I am certain you, fellow email user, have either encountered or have (GASP!) been guilty of.  Frankly, as email users, we are all guilty of this from time-to-time, but the ramifications…well…the ramifications could be at least embarrassing, at worst damaging, and always annoying.

The REPLY ALL Syndrome

So there you are.  You’re buckled down.  You’re focused.  You’re organized and getting stuff done.  You are feeling productive and your day is moving along very nicely.  You receive an email which has been sent to…for the sake of this argument…over two hundred recipients.  You do your due diligence, open the email, read the information contained therein, and think hm…looks like they forgot to include the date on which this event they’re telling us all about is going to happen.  (I’m making stuff up, just stay with me for a bit.)  Just as you are considering your reply, another email pops through with the same subject.  You think hm…looks like someone got to it before I did; let’s see what they say.  You open the new email, observe that the responder has come to the same conclusion that you did (the event date is missing) and further, has taken the liberty of responding not only to the original sender of the email, but also to everyone on the original distribution list. 

This secondary individual in this example (we’ll call him The Responder) has a disease.  It is called The Reply All Syndrome, or RAS, for short.  It’s contagious.  And it spreads like wildfire.

In the blink of an eye, two more emails hit your in-box in response to the original email notifying you about the event.  Rapid fire REPLY ALL.  And quickly, three more.  Each email saying essentially the same thing, “What is the date of the event?”  Now, not only has your day been interrupted once (the original email) but before you could say "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" your day has been interrupted seven more times.  And it’s only just beginning.  Pretty soon, you get one brilliant responder who decides that it’s up to him to respond to everyone to ask everyone to please discontinue Replying to All.  It is at that point where you, who were so productive and focused earlier, are now totally distracted to the point of considering slamming your head into the nearest hard surface, wall, whatever.  Full-on Face Plant on your desk out of sheer frustration.

We’ve all been there, ladies and gentlemen.  And unfortunately, we’ve all been guilty of it, too.  However, there is a difference between accidentally hitting the Reply All button and doing it on purpose.  Let me give you a hint: If everyone on the original email absolutely must receive information which is vital to their continued existence or to the subject matter at hand, then yes, by all means, select Reply All.  If your response is based on a feeling – for example, you feel you should let everyone know that the date of an event was missed – please, for the sake of all that is good and organized and free-flowing in this world, respond only to the original sender! 

You could respond to the original sender with something like Hey – you may have already gotten this several times, and I apologize if my email is just one of many, but I wonder if you realize you neglected to include the date of the event?  If you would please let us know when said event is to occur, I sure would appreciate it. 

OK – maybe not exactly like that.  But wouldn’t you much rather receive an email response such as the example above, even if you have already gotten several, than over a hundred Reply All responses?

There is a cure for this disease.  It is called Conscientious Attention to Detail or CAD, for short.  CAD is not something that comes naturally for humans.  It is something to which we need to aspire.  We are born with a natural immunity, if you will, to CAD.  CAD must be actively practiced, on a minute-by-minute, day-by-day basis.  It must become habit to become an effective cure for Reply All Syndrome.  Unfortunately, in today’s society of instant gratification, CAD is rare.  Texting, truncating words to fit within a certain character limitation, or simply a gradual (and sometimes not-so-gradual) slide away from proper usage of language is prevalent.  Therefore we must be diligent!  We must be attentive!  We must constantly consider how our actions (or non-actions) are going to affect others!  But again I say, this instant gratification society is also a “Me” society.  How many of you have said, “Well, it (whatever it is) doesn’t affect me so therefore why should I bother?”

I think I have just made my case.

SWISH! Score one for Tangent.

TTFN
JMS

Cross Posted: http://tananda.com

A New Meaning to Tunnel Vision

My son lives in a tunnel.  Ok, not really.  He lives in a small house with his mother, father, sister and Facha, the dog.  (Ok – not really the dog, either.  Sorry – I lapsed into Arlo Guthrie’s Alice’s Restaurant for a second there.)  He lives in a constant state of whatever is currently in his head, what he’s thinking, where he’s going, what he’s doing – but only in the sense of however those things affect him.  He sees nothing but what is at the end of that tunnel of thought.  You see?  He lives in a tunnel.

For such a smart kid (and he is so smart it’s scary) he’s pretty clueless about the world around him.

Let me give you an example or two.

Tonight after supper, he got out of his chair at the dining table, pushing it back and into the box behind the chair.  Banged himself away from the table loudly, bumped into his father, and made a bee-line for the only comfy chair in the room.  When he reached the chair, he hurled himself into it, causing it to slide back and further causing the back corner of the chair to come into contact with the large window in the living room.  The bottom half of this window is already cracked I had a moment of apoplexy waiting on the chair to crack the top half of the window, too.  Thankfully, that didn’t happen.  So when I called all this to his attention, he proceeded to twitch his body in such a way as to hopefully scoot the chair forward without having to get up.  Meanwhile, he’s holding onto an accent pillow which, as he’s scooting the chair forward, is pushing a glass off the side-table with each scoot until….CRASH!  Glass hit the floor.

All this occurred over about a 40 second period of time.  I hollered at him out of sheer frustration and then his father made him leave the room for a little while.

Hubby wrongly assumed I was just being pissy and so I tried to explain that really, it wouldn’t matter all that much if stuff like this didn’t happen all the time around our son.  An explanation to which I received a “Yeah, right,” response.

Ok – moving on.

While I cleared off some stuff from the table, this allowed our son a few minutes alone in his room so when I called him to come talk to me for a few minutes, he was angry and defensive. 

I explained it like this:

Buddy, you do realize that there is a whole big world out that that you interact with, and that interacts with you, on a daily basis?  Everything you do and everything you say affects someone or something else.  Right now, you’re moving through life in a tunnel and I really need you to come out of that tunnel.  All you see is what’s at the end of your tunnel.  Where you’re going.  What you’re doing.  What your goal is.  But you don’t see the things around you that your journey to the end – to your goal – is affecting.  Let me give you an example…

And I proceed to tell him the story of Alice’s Restaurant and the twenty-seven color glossy photographs with the circles and arrows and a para….wait.  Sorry.  I just did it again.  I call a do-over!

And I proceed to tell him what I told you above about the chair and the glass.  He was completely oblivious to everything I said except the sitting down part and the trying to scoot the chair forward part – until I hollered at him.

He said, “But I don’t always drop stuff, Mom!”

I explained that it wasn’t just dropping stuff and proceeded to talk about all the times he runs into things, how he sits down by throwing himself into his seat and gets up by banging into everything he possibly can and how when he takes a drink he’s so focused on the next thing that he’s not paying attention to where he’s putting the glass and he nearly always slams it into his plate. 

All of this he laughed at, like I was trying to be funny.

I explained that really, I’m not criticizing.  I’m simply trying to help him understand that everything he does affects something else.  Every single day.  Well, of course then he got upset because he thought I was trying to tell him he was screwing up on a daily basis, which I was not.  But in his ten-year-old brain, maybe that’s how it all sounded, I don’t know.

But what I did say was that I wanted him to start paying attention to the things, the people, the world around him, and how his movement through the world affected everything else.  He said he would.  I probably did an absolutely awful job at explaining all this to him in a non-threatening manner and in a way that he could understand my point.  I suppose the next few days will tell me if he heard me, or he actually HEARD me.

This parenting gig is tough.

TTFN

JMS

The moment is broken

That moment when your kids have done something not so awesome and they need to be scolded but not so bad that they deserve grounding or time in their room so you give them your most withering mom look and they’re looking back at you like whatever mom I’ve so got your number and you keep glaring at them thinking that if you keep it up they’ll finally learn the silent but necessary lesson you’re trying so desperately to teach and then they grin at you or roll their eyes at you and you try to school your features so you don’t betray this serious lesson by smiling but eventually you’re scrunching up your face and bursting out with laughter because those frustrating kids of yours are kind of cute and you love them you just can’t stand it anymore and the moment is broken.

 

Or when you’re in bed at night totally engrossed in a book and Hubby comes in and stands at the bottom of the bed and you can see him just beyond the top of your book so you know he’s there but you’re not really paying attention and then he hikes his pajama bottoms up to his armpits and stands there waiting for you to realize that he’s being a goofball trying to draw you away from your book and you know exactly what he’s doing but you try to ignore him except you keep reading the same sentence over and over again and finally you look up thinking you’ll be able to keep a straight face but you come eye to eye with the man you married who has his pajama bottoms pulled up to his armpits and he grins and you burst out laughing because you just can’t stand it anymore and the moment is broken.

 

I know you know what I’m talking about.  

TTFN

JMS