I've been helping our lizard with a confidence problem.
Elmo rarely feeds himself. I think he has trouble catching the worms in the dish and it's shattered his self-esteem so much he doesn't even try. He waits until I dangle a worm in front of his face and then he'll gladly pounce on it. Earlier in the week I noticed if he missed it or dropped it the first time, he'd close his eyes and slink back into his log. I tried to encourage him.
"C'mon, Elmo, just try again. You got this. You can do it. Don't give up so easy."
He didn't listen to me that first day, but we've been working on it. He's still not feeding himself, but he is sticking with it til he bags a worm. And he's been eating more too. That's progress, right? I think the next step is dangling the worms closer to the dish until he gets the hang of pouncing in the dish himself.
What would that little guy do without me? (Let us all switch to our hushed low-toned voice.) The Lizard Whisperer . . .
Ladies Man and Princess Dawdle are having tons of fun together this summer.
Kevin and I had a grand time cemetery hopping last weekend. Yes, you read that right. We made a date of visiting graves of loved ones. It was an adventure locating some of them in the first place, but we persevered and found them. The best part was leaving sentimental little gifts. We knew they'd never last and probably be thrown away in a matter of days, but there was something fun about marking a few graves with more than flowers.
At the grave of Kevin's grandmother, the Music Guru of southeast Nebraska who taught him to play the piano and honed musical talents in all of her grandchildren, we left a copy of one of Kevin's published anthems. She died before any of his music was in print. It seemed a fitting way to thank her for her influence in his life.
We left my dad some purple flowers (purple is my favorite color and I've decided I will always leave purple as my personal mark), but also a bag of cashews. Dad was the Snack King. Really. If there were a contest he would have won, HANDS DOWN. This guy had more snacks in his house than towels. Whenever we'd visit he'd fill the kitchen table with an assortment of chips and crackers and nuts and candy. So it seemed fitting to leave him a snack.
We left a tube of red lipstick at the grave of a friend's mother. More than a year ago my friend took me there. She told me her mom never left the house without red lipstick so we commemorated the occasion by donning red lipstick and leaving it. Since my friend has moved away I thought I'd make the visit myself and honor a woman I never met who raised some spectacular daughters.
The evening was super fun and I hope I remember for next year to plan ahead better and do it at more graves. I would have left a kolache for my grandma and circus peanuts for my grandpa. My other grandparents who were avid dancers might get some ballroom floor wax if I could find it.
Just in case you think we're crazy, let me assure you I realize no one's really there, that they aren't GETTING these gifts, but something about being more personal in decorating graves made it more special. And fun.
After our cemetery tour, I completely talked my poor husband's ear off, telling him about my new revelations of the week. It was so bad, I kept apologizing for rambling on and on though he assured me it was fine, that he wanted to hear it all. I realized later as our discussion switched to the aging process, he must have had enough.
Me: Do you think it's possible for a person to work so hard throughout their lifetime that they completely wear out their body? Is that what happens to people?
Kevin: I don't know, but what's gonna happen to you? Are you gonna go nuts because you use your mind too much?
Yes, the man has to tolerate a lot. Although I must say I should get some kind of prize for out-talking HIM for once! While I'm wearing out my brain, he's gonna wear out his tongue!
Everyone seemed to enjoy my animal adventures last week, so I've got another unusual one for today. I was walking by my front door when a flash, and I mean a FLASH of orange caught my eye. It darted down the tree and across our front sidewalk. I didn't have my glasses on so at first I thought I was seeing things (or losing my mind? ACK!), but it stopped long enough for me to see it was a neon orange squirrel. I'm not kidding you! Kevin grabbed his ipad to take a pic, but it's kinda hard to see.
Crazy! We were talking about it at dinner the other night when our friends said there's a kid in our neighborhood catching squirrels, spray painting them and letting them loose!
I swear we don't live in Arkansas.
I put my husband in one of those precarious do-these-jeans-make-me-look-fat situations this week. I was trying to start my exercise video when I couldn't get my TV to recognize any of our devices. It just kept flashing the NO SIGNAL message. I don't think I'm a dummy when it comes to technology so I did try fixing it myself. I checked to make sure our internet was working. I clicked all the different buttons on the switcher thingy (see how technologically saavy I am!). I even changed the batteries in the remote and still nothing. When I was out of ideas, I texted my husband.
Kevin: I don't know.
Me: Psshhhtt . . . you are no help.
Me: I just can't work on my killer body . . . you should be sorry for yourself . . .
While I was laughing my head off at the notion of "my killer body" my husband must have been sweating at the other end. Soon I got this text.
Kevin: I don't even know how to respond.
Although I laughed so hard imagining the panicked look on his face begging for a way out, I thought it a cop out answer.
But then I decided I did put him in a tricky situation, so I threw him a bone.
Me: At least you gave me a good laugh.
Kevin: Always here to please.
Is there some kind of school that can teach men appropriate ways to handle these sorts of situations? Can't they learn to accept our challenges for vain flattery? I guess I'd rather have honest and real than made up crap. Never mind, honey. I don't need no affirmation. I got the mind of a steel trap . . . or I get trapped in mind? . . . I just better quit here.
Imagine my horror when I opened this piece of mail:
I am officially old.
For those of you too young to know what this is, it is an AARP card. AARP stands for American Association of Retired Persons, or rather their site says it was FORMERLY known as the American Association of Retired Persons. Yeah, I kinda see why they want that name behind them. For instance, my first thought upon opening this was #1 I am not retired, and #2 I don't have anything to retire FROM. How can I fit into this category?! I am tempted to join up though, as the literature boasts all kinds of discounts and deals, and membership for your spouse is FREE.
Hmmmm . . . still not gettin' too excited. Maybe it's because the day after I received the card my twin baby brothers turned 40. Reminders at maturation every turn. I'm gonna focus on the fact that I still have my mind, although if you ask my husband, a proper assessment of "having my mind" probably depends on the day.
Aging. Sigh. I guess I'll have to rely on that "killer body" to make me feel young.
Man, I can't even type that without laughing. . . Holy smokes.
I hope you're getting geared up for a fun weekend. I am. Spending some time with some girlfriends tonight and going to a big birthday bash for my brothers on Saturday night. Find some fun yourself and wander over to Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes. Caio!