Trying Something New

I'm attempting to learn Haiku poetry—and it's not going well. As someone who loves long, flowery, free-flowing verse, Haiku feels rigid and unnatural to me. Five syllables, then seven, then five again? It feels like poetry with a straitjacket on. But I'm determined to give it a shot, so you'll find the occasional Haiku sprinkled throughout this blog. Fair warning: they'll probably be terrible.

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Flowery Verses

Mine arrive with muddy boots

Tracking through the pages

*Gag*

I’m classy, sassy and a bit badassy

Classy, Sassy, and a Bit Badassy

I think I’ve reached the age where I know exactly who I am.

I’m classy. I like things a certain way. I like to look put together, have a pretty home, use my manners, and treat people with kindness. I believe there is still something to be said for carrying yourself well and having standards.

But let’s not confuse classy with quiet.

Because I’m also a little sassy.

I have opinions. Lots of them. My face usually announces them before my mouth even gets a chance. I laugh at things I probably shouldn’t. I use sarcasm as a second language, and sometimes my filter clocks out before I do.

And then there is that tiny little badassy side.

That’s the part of me that survived the hard things, built a life, raised kids, ran a business, made mistakes, learned lessons, and kept going. It’s the part that says, “Nope, not doing that,” without needing everyone to understand why.

When you’re younger, you spend so much time trying to figure out who you are and worrying about what everyone thinks.

Then one day you realize… I’m good.

Not perfect. Not everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s perfectly fine.

I can wear lipstick, love pretty things, cry over a memory, spoil my grandkids, speak my mind, stand my ground, and still have a little sparkle while doing it.

Classy enough to know better.

Sassy enough to say it anyway.

And just badassy enough to be myself.

Did the Rapture Happen While I Was Shopping?

Today I had one of the weirdest experiences, and it happened not once, but twice.

I pulled into a store parking lot, and it was packed. The kind of packed where you have to circle around looking for a spot and start wondering if you really need whatever you came for. I finally found a place, went inside, grabbed what I needed, and headed back out.

The parking lot was practically empty. Not just a little less crowded. Empty. As in, where did everybody go? I stood there for a second trying to figure out if I’d somehow lost track of time. Maybe I had been shopping longer than I thought. Maybe I’d accidentally wandered every aisle in the store. But no. I was in and out.

Then it happened again. Different store. Same exact thing. Packed when I arrived. Empty when I left.

By that point my mind had moved beyond logical explanations. My first thought was that maybe the Rapture happened while I was inside, and somehow I got left behind. That’s not exactly the kind of realization you want to have standing in a parking lot holding a bag of purchases.

My second thought was that perhaps the zombie apocalypse had started and everyone else got the memo except me. Maybe there was some emergency alert that went out while I was comparing prices or trying to remember why I walked into the store in the first place.

I know there are perfectly reasonable explanations. People come and go. Stores get busy and then they don’t. But when the same strange thing happens twice in one day, it starts to feel a little suspicious.

All I’m saying is if I pull into a crowded parking lot tomorrow and come back out to complete silence and abandoned shopping carts, I’m not sticking around to investigate. I’ve watched enough movies to know that’s how the main character ends up getting chased by zombies.

And honestly, if the Rapture did happen and I got left behind, at least I know I went down doing something important.

I was shopping.

Eight Grandkids, One Balloon, and Rules Nobody Remembered 😂

Last Monday I watched eight of my grandkids so Katie could go to work, and if there is one thing I have learned about my grandkids, it’s that they stick to me like glue.

I’m not sure if they are afraid they are going to miss something fun, something ridiculous, or just the next stupid thing Lolly decides to do, but they are always right there. Hip side. All of them.

Today’s big entertainment involved tape and a balloon. That’s it. Somehow those two items turned into an entire game, complete with rules, strategy, and a whole lot of confusion. Even the crawling grandbaby got involved.

The best part? We made up the rules as we went.

“This square gets to serve.”

“This square gets to pick what body part you have to hit the balloon with.”

“This square has to cover two spots if someone gets out.”

“If the balloon hits the ground, you’re OUT!”

By the end, we had so many rules nobody could remember all the rules, including the people who made the rules.

And when you play with a bunch of kids, especially with a few under three, you quickly realize the little ones are no longer players… they become part of the obstacle course.

The toddler lying on the floor having a meltdown because Barbie’s clothes won’t go on? Obstacle.

The baby crawling through the middle of the game? Obstacle.

The random kid walking through at the exact wrong moment? Also an obstacle.

You don’t stop the game. You just adjust and keep going. (Hey!  I'm teaching life lessons here!)

They had so much fun creating new rules, changing the game, and trying to keep up with the chaos they created. But like all kid activities, the greatest game ever invented lasted until suddenly… they were done.

Time to move on.

Thankfully Lolly had the next activity ready.

Lunch.

My choice. 😂

I let them make their own hot dogs, which apparently is also an activity when you’re a kid.

After that, we watched some crazy show they all seemed to love. I personally did not understand the appeal, but I’m pretty sure my grandparents thought the same thing about the stuff I watched.

Before I knew it, it was time to head home.

Eight kids. One balloon. A roll of tape. A million made-up rules.

Sometimes the simplest things really are the things they remember.