My Bear

I dread having to make this confession.  It is my deep dark secret.  So here it is.

I sleep with a bear at night.

I do not remember when I got him, my Bear.  All I know is that I do not remember a time without him. He has been there for me to cry to, to snuggle and to offer me stability when the world felt like it was crashing in around me.  He is an original Care Bear, Friend Bear, and he is no longer the lovely peach color he was when he came to me.  His fur is matted and mostly white now.  His little wisp of hair that used to be fluffy is now a messy clump.  His tail is falling off due to my rubbing it as a child.  (I may still rub that tail in moments of desperate need of calm)

Bear has had knee surgery with me.  He had his wisdom teeth pulled with me.  We had our ribs removed together.  I have no doubt that he would have come to the hospital with me to deliver Superboy if I had had any chance to pack a bag before that child made his surprise entrance to the world.

The only time I have not slept with Bear at my side is immediately after Superboy's arrival.  I had a terrible nightmare that Bear was Superboy and that I smothered him by rolling over on him while sleeping.  It was horrifying and Bear was relegated to my nightstand until I felt comfortable enough to try sleeping with him again.  He sat patiently as a sentry until I was ready to come back to him.

Superman asked me long ago if I would share Bear with Superboy.  I have to admit that I hesitated before I answered in the affirmative.  I think it would thrill me if Superboy wanted to snuggle Bear but I know I would miss him every night.

Bear is my safe place.  He is the friend I have had forever.

I wonder if I'll ever sleep without it.

Even though I'm 35 years and 5 days old, I still sleep with my quilt every night.  Obviously, I can sleep without it if necessary - like on business trips, vacations at hotels, etc.  But, if I'm in my own bed at home, I can't sleep without my quilt.

It's tattered now with frayed threads and torn fabric, but it's still one of my prized possessions.  It was created with a lot of love and given to me on a night I'll never forget.

My dad wasn't an experienced hunter back in November 1988.  I can't remember exactly when he started hunting, but up until that fateful night, he had not actually shot and killed a deer.  I don't remember if he called my mom after he shot it (which now seems unlikely considering we didn't have cell phones back then) or if he told her when he returned home from his adventure.  I just remember receiving the news that my dad had indeed shot and killed his first buck. 

To say I was devastated would be an understatement. 

I burst into tears.

I was so upset by the fact that my dad had shot a beautiful buck that I couldn't get myself calmed down.  I knew that we were going to eat the venison, so it's not like the buck was killed for no reason.  I just couldn't get the idea of a strong, swift, beautiful buck being shot by my own dad.  It was too much to take at the age of 10.

And there I was.  In my room, crying into my pillow, when my mom and older sister entered.  In my mom's arms was a colorful quilt with blue gingham backing.  I knew in an instant that it was for me.

Over the years, I had watched my mom cut triangle after triangle of fabric - hundreds upon hundreds of them!  I had watched her work long into the night, stitching the triangles at her sewing machine.  I had watched her loop and tie yarn at the triangles' intersections.  I had watched all of this over the years as she created quilts for all 4 of my cousins and my sister.  I had begged her for a quilt of my own.  "One day," she would always reply.

Little did I know, she had been staying up late - long past my bedtime - cutting, sewing, and looping a quilt just for me.  Her plan was to gift it to me during the approaching Christmas season.  But, knowing that I was in need of a pick-me-up, my mom chose that particular night to deliver my special quilt.

I looked at the quilt in awe.  Nearly every triangle of fabric held meaning for me; leftover fabric from Easter dresses my mom had sewn for me over the years; my sister's Scarlet O'Hare dress that my mom created for her many Halloween's ago.  Each square I touched held a special memory.

And now, 24 years later, I still sleep with it.  It's worn and soft and cool and warm all at the same time.  There are two particlar holes on the quilt that I slide my feet into while I sleep.  It's the perfect comfort that greets me each and every night I climb into my bed.  It's just what the doctor ordered after a long, hard, exhausting day of Life.

My mom has since made my neices and daughters quilts of their very own.  I'm not sure they realize it right now, but I hope they grow to learn and understand just how much love and sacrifice has gone into their quilts.  And I hope that they too are sleeping with their special gifts 24+ years from now, just like me.

So what about you?  Is there something you can't sleep without either?  An old stuffed animal?  A specific nightshirt?  A blanket or pillow?  What is it that comforts and beckons you to drift sweetly off to sleep?

I Wonder How Long it Will Take Me To Eat This Entire Sleeve of Thin Mints?

There was a time in life when I used to believe that I could eat 4 Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies, and then twist the remainder of the sleeve up, clip it with a clothespin (my chip-clip of choice), and put it back in the freezer.  At the venerable age of 34, however, I’ve learned a lot about myself, and learned to be really comfortable with who I am.  And who I am is a woman who can, and will, eat the entire sleeve of Thin Mints in one sitting.  Thank you, thanks there’s no need for applause, I know it’s impressive.

For years and years I used to rip the cardboard strip on the new Thin Mint box, tear open clear plastic wrap of the initial sleeve (replaced this year with foil, by the way), select four slim chocolate cookies, and lay them on the counter.  Then, in order to maintain the delusion of self control, I would twist up the end of the sleeve to preserve the freshness of the cookies I had not selected - even though I knew, deep down in a soul as dark as the chocolate glaze of the cookies I loved, that they would not be in that freezer long enough to lose their fresh minty crunch.  I’d carefully return the sealed-up sleeve to the box and put the whole lot in the freezer, then close the door.  I would take my glass of milk and my cookies and sit on the couch, and try to eat them slowly, savoring every morsel (as I’ve been taught by all of the lady’s magazines that have been explaining to me for years that I’m too fat, but with their guidance I can slim down in time for summer/after Christmas/post-baby/whenever, all I have to do is eat more slowly/eat pomegranate/eat acai/eat less/eat what I want with this amazing new pill/do this twenty minute exercise every morning/never diet again.)

Within ten seconds of wiping my lips from the last bit of the last cookie, I’d find an excuse to wander toward the freezer.  Hmmmm, maybe I should do those couple of dishes? And ya know, while I’m so close to the fridge, I may as well check and see if I need to buy Eggo waffles/if we have enough ice/if the ice cream froze over/whether I defrosted that Tupperware container of leftover chili that I wanted to reheat tonight for dinner.  Oh lookie here – I see a box of Thin Mints.  I suppose it is that same box I just put in here, but since I’m looking at it, maybe I’ll just have one more.  One or two.  Well, you know a serving size is four cookies, so I’ll just have another serving, to keep it even.  So four.  Just four.  Maybe five, that’s a satisfying amount to hold in my hand.  Or maybe I’ll just take the whole sleeve out to the couch , that way I won’t get chocolate melting on anything.

A few “Nom Nom Crunch Nom Gobble Devour Nom” sounds later, the sleeve would be gone, and I’d be looking around, furtively wiping minty chocolate smears from my face and  various appendages, and checking to see if anyone had noticed that all of those cookies were in the belly of one person and that person was me, a girl who apparently would NOT be slimming down in time for swimsuit season/after Thanksgiving/before going to the high school reunion.

Ironically, these days I’m probably fifteen pounds heavier than I was then, but I own my eating choices in a way that I never could when I was fifteen pounds lighter and ten years younger.  Hi, my name is G Love, and I eat a sleeve of Thin Mints in one sitting.  And unlike the twenty-something version of me that shamefully wrapped up freezer cookies while wilting under the non-existent judgmental gaze of the non-existent people who were not judging me for the indulgence because THEY DON’T EXIST, I own my choices - good, bad, and chocolatey.

Therefore, wonder no longer.  The amount of time it takes for G Love to eat a sleeve of Thin Mint cookies, all sixty-five inches, size twelve, one-hundred-fifty-five-pounds of her, is . . . less than the time it takes to write a blog post, apparently. 

Nom Nom.

Do I have to pick ONE?

Bad habits? I’ve got a few. Worst habit? What exactly constitutes “worst”? Most annoying to loved ones? Most unique? Most likely to result in bodily harm to myself or said loved ones? Most disgusting? Longest-held?

I don’t drink enough water. I hold grudges. I flop my foot (or feet) around in time to the music on my computer no matter who’s in my office without realizing I’m doing it. I’m always touching my face. I procrastinate. I sing along in stores when I like the song. I share about 90% of all the other bad habits of my fellow Wonder Women, especially G Love’s #3, super jane’s #1, and Wicked M’s #2. I wimp out on going to the gym. I correct people when they say “two-thousand-and-thirteen” instead of “twenty-thirteen.”

But my worst habit, I think, is that I’m an eye-roller. I mean, a constant one. Liz Lemon ain’t got nothin’ on me [see: “30 Rock,” Episode 707 … or pretty much any other “30 Rock” episode]. I’ve already rolled my eyes at myself twice in the typing of this post so far: once when I thought of the grudges I’m currently holding and noted how ridiculous they are, and then once while trying to remember a quote from a magazine I recently read about how “contempt” or “feeling judged” was a top indicator that a couple would get divorced or something and the magazine actually printed “Stop with the eye-rolling if you want to stay married” or something. Clearly I’m hard on myself about my memory these days. I also know that I can do both (roll my eyes at The Boy and stay married to him), so … whatever, magazine. You don’t know. [Insert eye roll #3 in as many paragraphs.]

I know rolling my eyes makes me look like (and yes, become) a hoity-toity b---- who’s never pleased by anyone or anything. I also know that most of the time I barely feel any truly negative emotions when I do it. It’s not an actual expression of anything other than a nanosecond of exasperation/disagreement/judgment/incredulity/condescension.

And like any bad habit, I have multiple defenses for it so I don’t have to work on breaking it!

1. At least I’ve graduated from sticking out my tongue. The two reflexes represent pretty much the same thing.
2. Nobody spends as much time looking at other people as he thinks he does, so half the time nobody even notices I did it.
3. I don’t get called out on it. Trust me, if everyone I knew said, whenever it happened, “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, woman!” I might do it less often.
4. In polite society (work, especially), a flick of the eyes heavenward isn’t really rude and it definitely isn’t an interruption. How do people know I’m not just praying for patience?
5. My dad is King of the Eye-Rollers. Hoo, boy! He can take those peepers and spend minutes searching the inside of his skull … and even sometimes get a little jaw twitch going for good measure. It’s a sight to behold and I’m just a princess in his court. I’ll never turn it into the work of art he has.

If you, fearless reader, have been on the receiving end of one of my eye rolls, please forgive me. If it’s not followed by a lecture, I didn’t mean anything by it and maybe it didn’t even have anything to do with you anyway.

If I’m brave enough to try to give up rolling my eyes for Lent, I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes. I doubt it will go very well. I just racked up eye roll #4.

Bad Habits? Who Me?

I have been thinking and thinking about this topic since Monday and for the life of me cannot think of any bad habits I have!  HA HA HA HA HA.  Okay, seriously.  I have so many that I could never list them all.  Here are just a few in no particular order:

1)  CARBS.  Who can resist carbs?  They are so tasty and delicious and I love them all.

2)  Cursing.  I love a properly placed curse word and few things feel better when you are mad than dropping an F bomb.  I make my mother so proud.  I have really been working on this because, well, it would not be good for Superboy to be going around dropping F bombs.  So, while I love cursing, I need to curb it ASAP.

3)  Pinterest.  How has no other Wonder Woman mentioned Pinterest?  I love whiling time away looking at pins and I especially love the Humor pins.  Pinterest is always a great way to get a good idea for my house or to laugh out loud at a pin of a cat doing/saying something funny.  

4)  Twisting my hair.  This is a terrible habit that I genuinely have an issue with.  I keep my hair short to help curb this habit as it makes me look like a crazy person (and also because I look cute with short hair!) to be twisting my hair maniacally.  I have done this since I was a kid, so I really do not know where it comes from.  Luckily, this compulsion can be managed by chopping my hair off.

5)  I have a quick temper.  Sigh.  I hate this about myself but it is reality.  I have a quick temper and I have to work on this daily so that I do not find myself yelling or losing my mind over something that has set me off.  I am not proud of this particular trait of mine, but I do manage it somewhat well.  Hey, I am trying.

6)  Trashy television.  I know the en vogue thing to do these days is to cut off cable and to only watch PBS, but I need The Real Housewives (of whatever city!) to make me feel better.  I love nothing more than decompressing in the evenings with some trashy television.  It makes me laugh, it helps lower my stress level and it makes me feel so much better about myself.  Nope, Wicked M's house will never be cable free.  Ever.

7)  Junk Food.  This sort of goes with carbs, but I thought it deserved a category of its own.  I have a serious love affair with junk food.  Chances are, the worse it is for me, the more I will love it.  I do not gorge myself or eat entire bags of chips at a time, but I do love a few Cheetos in the evening.  I also love Pringles, popcorn, nachos, etc.  I really could go on and on here.  I have really gotten better about snacking in the evenings in an attempt to help maintain my weight (my post-baby body is...questionable at best) but sometimes a girl just needs some junk food in her life.

So, yes, I do have some bad habits.  We all do.  At least mine are not illegal and/or dangerous.  So, I promise not to harp on your about yours if you do not harp on me about mine.

I Wonder if You Realize How Special Today Is?

... it's the personal New Year of our beloved Super Jane. Happy, happy birthday, sista! You're fabulous and we adore you!

Bad Girl

I have a list of bad habits that runs a mile long.  Here are a select few that rank amongst the worst:

...losing my temper
...speeding
...eating too many sweets
...saying the word "pissed" (maybe this has something to do with the first entry on this list)

Other habits I posses, however, aren't necessarily bad, but are definitely habits.  Perhaps the one that I think probably annoys people (although I've never had anyone confirm this with me) is that I bite on the inside of my mouth.

I'll find myself twisting my mouth during meetings, or church, or while watching tv, or while doing just about anything and biting the inside of my cheek and lips.  I'm actually embarrassed to admit that I chew on the inside of my mouth for a good majority of the day.

Even as I type this, I'm chewing on the inside of my cheek.  See?  Isn't it annoying? 

Sometimes I'll chew gum which keeps me occupied.  But, more times than not, my mouth is left to its own devices and I find myself tugging on my lips and cheeks.

This habit actually freaks me out a bit.  A former coworker used to bite the inside of her cheeks as well.  She said her dentist told her it could cause mouth ulcers.  I've never really confirmed this with my dentist (or even googled it for that matter), but since my dentist has never said anything to me, I've kept up with the habit in a big, bad way.

I really do need to stop.  If not for my oral health then for my own self-consciousness.  I worry that my coworkers talk about me behind my back.  "Oh my gosh!  Can you believe Super Jane?  Isn't that soooo annoying?"  I mean, really.  We all talk about coworkers like that; we talk about their quirks and how irritating they are.  I'm just worried that I'm the topic of conversation behind closed doors.

Maybe this topic is good for me to explore.  Seeing it all written out like this makes me think that this time I can kick the habit for good.

And now I'm off to google "mouth ulcers."