I am completely intimidated by people named Jennifer. Jen's even more so. I have yet to meet a Jennifer or Jen that didn't send me spiraling into a whirlwind of doubt because they are so much more fabulous than I. This is not to say anything negative about the Jennifer's or Jen's, because odds are they are usually wonderful people who live totally unaware of my complete intimidation. So. Jennifer's and Jen's: you are amazing. I am not worthy.
- - -
I have never met someone named Jenny. Though, again, I've come across a sizable group of Jen's and Jennifer's.
- - -
As I'm writing this, Phoebe is lazing perfectly inside an Ikea metal storage bin. Which is sitting on top of a filing tray. Which is here on the kitchen table. (Don't tell Chip.) (Oops. I guess I just told Chip.)
- - -
Some time has passed. I'm now sitting on the our bed. Fergus is giving me the Stink Eye from down at my feet. I think he is expecting attention. This point should not be considered a confession. Because it's not. In any way.
- - -
Yesterday I brought the kids outside to play in our yard. We were having fun playing Let's Have the Toddlers Take Turns Fetching the Big Red Ball, wherein I sit on my fanny and throw the Big Red Ball as far as I can into the backyard and then spend several minutes encouraging either Bean or G-Man to retrieve the ball. This is not the confession, because I'm really not ashamed of this ingenious use of Toddler Energy (which is, clearly, AN UNTAPPED RESOURCE). The confession: I became very afraid of two bees that were behaving as if either the toddlers or I would make a nice pin cushion. They just kept following us around and then doing their little bee-hover over our arms and legs. It played like this:
Bees: hover hover hover
Whimsy: throws bag containing several toys and sippies over to the far left for relocation purposes
Bees: hover hover hover
Whimsy: grabs children under her arms and heads to other end of yard
Bees: ???
Whimsy: breathes sigh of relief, throws Big Red Ball
Bees: Oh! hover, hover, hover
We repeated this madness three times and then I decided I'd had enough and brought everyone (except the bees) back inside. The confession: I was scared out of my own yard by two honey bees.
- - -
I encouraged M in a text conversation yesterday morning that she should be documenting all the strange people she's seeing in NYC right now. "Documenting" as in taking their picture. She didn't think it was such a good idea.
- - -
(Another NOT confession:) Dudes. So you're telling me that you don't remember your first bra? How can that BE? I simply do not understand, internets, how you cannot remember this ICONIC moment. I told my friend yesterday (she of the original question) that at least she can take solace in the fact that, most likely, her daughter isn't going to remember it. Make it a Big Deal, don't make it a Big Deal - either way she's not going to remember anything.
- - -
So. It's been a while since we've shared some healthy confessions. Your turn - go.
Post Edit with another confession:
I wrote this entry last night.
Post Edit with yet another confession:
I completely forgot to confess that as I was putting laundry in the washer last night I got a little distracted. I bent down to pick up a few errant pieces of laundry when Bean walked by and called for me. I stood up really fast, with lots of force, and CRACK my forehead made direct contact with the laundry closet doorknob in a most painful way. It was one of those totally unnecessary reminders that I'm not a fan of head injuries. You know, if case you ever wondered. Whimsy: NOT A FAN OF THE HEAD INJURIES.
6 comments:
I am a Jennifer, who is occasionally a Jen, but used to be a Jenny, and is still an Aunt Jenny, because my sister grew up calling me Jenny, so her kids use it. Does that count? And believe me, I am in no way more fabulous than you. I swear.
I was once chased off my back porch by a spider. It threatened me. Looked right at me, chittered it's little... jaw things, and stared me down. It won, I left. So don't feel bad about the bees.
I do remember my first bra, but only because I was seriously resisting puberty and my mother forced me to get and wear it. We lived on an island where there were no department stores, or anywhere else to buy clothes, so she ordered them from the Sears catalog. I was in fourth grade.
Oh, and just for the record, I'm a fairly new reader here, and I think this may be my first comment... so I have to tell you, I adore your blog!
Jennifer: MY FIRST JENNY! Can I collect you? I will put you in my curio cabinet and then look fondly on you as I pass by... my very first Jenny!!! And dude, the spider? YES. I know exactly what you mean. We've been hissed at by the ginormous northwest specimens a few times and it's terrifying.
I don't remember bra shopping AT ALL so they must've just turned up. I was an early developer - like 3rd grade dude. Back then it was MORTIFYING to 1) have boobs and 2) wear a bra. I'm telling you it was traumatic. Now my 9 y/o niece has bra and panty sets that she doesn't even really need.
Almost every time I go to turn on a burner on the stove, I always choose the wrong knob. The little pics on the knob don't help me, even when I stop to think about what I am doing. I also sometimes leave the burners on and often leave the oven on long after I have removed its contents. I am Unsafe in the kitchen.
I have a confession.
I now regret NOT documenting NY hair. Those pictures would have made an awesome slide show at parties or family gatherings. They would have infused any awkward situation with humor. And now, I do not have them. And truth be told, no one would have noticed me subtly taking pictures of their HAIR.
I also don't really remember bra shopping. I did think that I was an early developer, but now, maybe I was just average (12 years old). I do remember that I went from a A cup to a C cup in a matter of a few weeks. THAT was traumatic.
Oh, and one last confession...when it rains hard here we get these tiny frogs that seek refuge in our apartment. This morning one I found one of them and it hopped RIGHT at me. I screamed like a little girl and the Boy laughed at me. I mean hysterical, maniacal laughter. Yep. He's my kid.
I do remember my first bra! It was horrible. My mom took me to the mall of all places while I was wearing a white shirt no less! The clerk looked me up and down and asked me to pull my shirt down. I thought I would die. When it was time for Sami to get one I asked her if she was ready to get one. When she finally said yes I took her to the store and let her pick them out.
My confession, I love to be alone. Especially during the day when everyone is gone! There is something about silence in the house that appeals to me!
Post a Comment