An Echo Through the Ages

Mothers always have a 'thing' that they say, don't they. I don't know what other mothers say. Maybe it's something sweet ("Well as I live and breathe!"), maybe something threatening ("Go cut yourself a switch."), or maybe something pleasantly odd. Like in the atrociously funny movie Bad Santa, where the doddering grandmother always says "Let me fix you some sandwiches." So weird.

My mother has a pile of them. If you asked why, she said "'Cause Y's a crooked letter and it can't be made straight." If you hollered when she brushed your hair and tore straight through a knot, she said, "Oh be quiet before I give you something to really cry about." (Not that she ever did - or would, for that matter - but still. She did say it.) If we were in the car and drove past a cemetery, she'd say (every single time), "I hear people are just dying to get in there." Hyuck, hyuck. And if you were fresh-mouthed at her...

The other day I was in the car with Captain Mommypants and my little brother Bug, who is six years old. Mom and I were trying to talk about something, and Bug was in the backseat rattling off his perpetual and incessant commentary on every single car we drove past. "Hey, Mom, did you see the Mazda 5? Hey, Mom, that was a Toyota Prius. Hey Mom, there is a bwue Mewcedes. Hey Mom..."

And our mother, who normally has the patience of a saint when it comes to her children's musings and chatterings, got frustrated that she couldn't hear what I was saying ("Hey, Mom...") and waved her hand in the air at him, and said in an unusually dismissive tone, "Yeah, yeah, Bug, keep it to yourself for a little bit, will you?"

This, it turns out, is the joy of children. Because Bug, outraged that she wouldn't listen to him, leaned forward in his seat, touched Mom on the shoulder, and said what is likely the number one most recognizable Mommy-ism our mother uttered over the years as she wrangled 5 highly spirited children into adulthood: "Mom," said Bug, in a censorious tone so like hers that he could have been a parrot. "Don't you EVER. EVER. Talk to me like that again."

Needless to say, I died laughing.

We Did Not Have Fun At All

No matter what these pictures indicate, keep in mind that Handsome and I had a horrible, wretched, terrible, atrocious, awful time in San Francisco on our anniversary trip.

The weather was terrible.

The sights were banal.

We had one raging fight after another.

We didn't see any good friends.

We didn't do anything funny, or jump for joy.

We drank terrible wine.

We couldn't get back home soon enough, and kissed the ground of Texas when we landed, swearing never EVER to travel again.

It's All Handsome's Fault

OK, I've figured out why I am so lazy about my blogging. I've decided (as you might have guessed by now if you read the title of this post) that the responsibility falls squarely on my beloved's shoulders. It's not that he stops me from posting - he would never do that. It's just that before I had my Handsome, there was nobody else that found every stray thought that crossed my mind as fascinating as I did. Except you all, of course. Which is why I wrote as much as I did. You were the void (and a lovely void you were, too) into which I sent all my mental chatter. Now, however, I chatter it out to the gorgeous redhead who shares my life (and finds me utterly charming), and by the end of the day, I just don't have this burning bubbling boiling overabundance of words that need to come out of me anymore.

In sum, this is a sacrifice I'm willing to make, no matter how much my father (hi Superdad!) and brother (hi Fairy King!) chastise me for failing to keep them entertained in 10 minute snippets throughout their weeks. However, I'm not going anywhere. I'm still here, life is still happening, and I'll keep blogging, albeit at a slower pace than before.

So.

On that note, guess what this weekend marks. No, not my birthday. Don't worry, that's still a month away, you have plenty of time to shop for gratuitously expensive presents. No guesses? Okay, I'll give you a hint. On November 6, 2009, I got in my car to go meet a boy I'd been chatting with over the interwebs. I didn't know it then, but my life was about to change. Big time.

The Scene: the outdoor patio of Paggi House, a charming downtown Austin restaurant.
The Time: 6pm, Friday, November 6.
The Cast: one Miss Amazing Cheastypants, running a little late on account of traffic, and one Mr. Handsomepants, standing at the top of the stairs, waiting to meet the girl he'd been telling his family and friends he was getting pretty excited about.
The Question: Does internet dating really work?

The Answer: Indubitably. I took one look at those blue blue eyes, and was smitten. I held his hand for the first time and marveled. I watched him cheerfully play with the herd of small children that joined our bocce ball game later that evening, and fell head-over-heels for Handsome. Then he leaned over between horseshoe tosses and kissed me, and I've never looked back. From the moment we met I've been in a steady state of wonder that anybody this perfect for me could possibly exist.

We're off to San Francisco to celebrate our anniversary this weekend. Wish us good luck, blue skies, and an abundance of delights.