A Metaphor is Like a Simile

A metaphor is like a simile.

Except, when used in this sentence, the metaphor becomes a simile.
So, if the metaphor IS now a simile, that, in turn, makes the simile a metaphor. Yeah, I know I'm weird, but this makes me laugh.

Hairy Man Legs

What to write about? I could write in response to Sara's overwhelming feelings of motherhood . . . enjoy every precious second, and don't blink or you'll miss it. I am constantly amazed at the speed of life. My firstborn will be a "legal" adult soon, and my baby boy, who has always enjoyed crawling into my lap for a little "mommy-scratch-my-legs" time, now has really hairy "man legs". Makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

I feel so blessed to be a 24/7 mom - a SAHM for 17 years and a "take him to work with me" mom for the last 3. Everybody told me what a difficult time I would have when Kacey left for college - especially hard since I was so used to having her around - and I was somewhat worried they might be right. As it turned out, they weren't. Sure, I miss her. Sure, I wish she was 4-years-old again. Sure, I fantasized about moving into her dorm room with her. But the reality is, I have no regrets about not spending enough time with either of my kids. I haven't missed a thing. I was there for the first steps, the first words, the first crush. I taught them to read, to be responsible, to love each other. We have talked into the wee hours of the morning on hundreds of occasions and now share long, quirky emails (even with Kevin, though he is sitting at the desk next to me. It seems to be so much easier to say things in print than in person, especially with boys.)

Do I miss baby clothes and read-aloud books and snuggling? You betcha. Do I miss diapers and crying and not sleeping? Not even a little bit. Granted, they will never be as cute as they were when they were toddlers, but the time together just gets better and better. Thank you, God.

happy father's day!

For teaching me to love God, for barbequed ribs, for biology
homework help, for carrying me to bed from the car when I was
little and was pretending to be asleep, for always being patient,
for working logic problems with me, for loving to sing, for building
a balsa-wood raft (complete with orange crates) for 7th grade social
studies, for being tender enough to cry, for making emergency
pantyhose runs to the convenience store on Sunday mornings, for
leaving $20 in my Bible when I would come home from college, for
9 days on a bus to Florida as a band chaperone, for canoeing, for
being the best Papa to the kids I could possibly want, for teaching
me to drive, for taking us to dinner a thousand times, for making
church a priority, for giving good advice even when I didn't listen,
for loving me. I love you very much, Dad. Happy Father's Day!

the scarlet letter

I went shopping this morning at my favorite "big girl" store. I always go straight to the back first, 'cause that's where the clearance racks are.

I couldn't help but giggle when I saw a turn-around carrying "Fat Girl Fitness Clothing" tucked away in the back corner! No joke. A true oxymoron if ever there was one.

Anyway, closer to the front of the store, I discovered a cute top - 3/4 sleeves, v-neck, had an all-over design that looked French - coffee cups, Eiffel Tower, fleur-de-lis. "Fun!", I thought, so I pulled it out. Strategically scripted acrss the left chest was the word, "Chocolate." But I just couldn't do it. Obviously, I'm as guilty of loving my pure chocolate as Hester Prynne was of "loving" her Puritan minister, but do I really need to wear the symbol of my plus-sized shame emblazoned across my clothing like a scarlet letter? Methinks not.

girl interrupted

Okay, my alone-time girl night was rudely interrupted by a 30-second thunderstorm and subsequent routinely-expected power outage. So I:
8:10 Scrounge around feeling for a working flashlight.
8:14 Give up hope of ever finding a working flashlight, scrounge around for matches and a candle that still has a wick.
8:19 Light said candle.
8:22 Put ice on finger-burn from lighting too-short jar candle.
8:26 Look up phone number for electric company.
8:31 Go on "blind man's bluff" scavenger hunt for glasses so I can see telephone number to electric company.
8:33 Call electric company and report power outage.
8:34 Press "1", say "yes". Press "2" , punch in phone number. Repeat.
8:42 Attempt to read by candlelight.
8:45 Realize "It was the pest of fines, it was the worms of fines" is probably not the first line of "A Tale of Two Cities" so scrounge around Kevin's bedside looking for booklight, since candlelight is not cutting it with my 40-something eyesight.
8:57 Get distracted and beat on drumset in the dark for five minutes. Hit rims more than heads.
9:03 Call back electric company to check on status of my service - they are aware of problem.
9:11 Remember Kacey left her laptop here!
9:18 Pop "Runaway Bride" into laptop. Watch until Richard Gere gets hair tye-dyed like a clown before screen goes blank and battery dies.
9:34 Wash black tank top in sink and hang in shower to dry.
9:41 Set candle in fridge looking for something to eat.
9:44 Decide to make tea from hot sink water.
9:47 Decide to dump out tea made from hot sink water.
9:48 Call electric company a third time. They report electricity is back on.
9:49 I report it is not.
9:53 Look out windows to see distant neighbors sitting in air-conditioned, brightly-lit rooms watching end of "Minority Report" on ABC.
10:00 Call mom so somebody will know I'm sitting alone in the dark and feel sorry for me.
10:15 Clean out purse
10:23 Carry candle outside to light way to car.
10:24 Drive to office, noting the rest of my neighborhood is lit up like a holiday movie starring Chevy Chase.
10:35 Review middle school Bible lesson for tomorrow.
10: 50 Call electric company a fourth time. They report "a crew is currently on site attempting to restore power." Sure.
10:58 Blog and whine.
11:15 Check email and eBay auctions.
11: 30 Edit whiny blog.
11:37 Go back home and hope power is on so I can go to bed.