Frogboy asked me the other day what I would do if I only had a month to live. I immediately asked him, "Well, what condition am I in?" Frankly, that's going to make a big difference in how I answer the question.
If I'm confined to bed and unable to communicate, I think it's pretty obvious. I'm just gonna lay there, no matter how long I have.
And if I'm kinda sickly and I can't get out and do the fun stuff, then I guess I would spend a great deal of time gathering the people I love around me and talking about good times and telling them I love them. I can talk faster depending on how bad I feel.
Door number 3 is obviously the door of choice. This would be where I'm amazingly healthy up until the moment I stop breathing. Behind this door I would like to think I would do all sorts of fun things and make all sorts of incredible memories for my loved ones. Things I would remember for the rest of my very short life. (Although, let's be honest, if I'm dying in a month, even a good solid poop will land on that list.)
But then I think again. Do I want my kids to come to the end of my life and say, "Hey, remember how awesome mom was the month before she died?" Or do I want them to remember my entire life, hopefully in the same "awesome mom" vein?
The night before my aunt slipped into a coma she never came out of, she told my uncle, "If I die tonight, I will die a happy woman." It's been a little over a year, and we haven't come anywhere close to exhausting the "awesome mom" stories from her life. I want to live my life like she did. No matter how long I have. No matter what I have happen. I want to live a life of love.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Wednesday, November 06, 2013
Purse Ponderings
There are certain events in every woman's life that mark her. Events that outshine every other boring, blah day of her existence.
The day she walks down the aisle to marry the man of her dreams.
The day she gives birth to her first child. And the second. And - I'm almost certain - all subsequent offspring. That sort of thing rarely gets old.
But let's face it. One of the highlights in every girl's life is the search for - and discovery of - the ultimate joy of the perfect purse. It's true.
Now I've been criticized a lot over the years about making too much out of this whole perfect purse phenomena. This has generally been done by men, therefore I have completely ignored it and them. Statements such as "Why do you need so many purses?" (um, because they're there!) and "What's the point in getting a new one; you only use it for a couple of weeks before you get tired of it and put it in the trunk" (yea, kid, careful with that...and be glad I have some scruples where you're concerned).
Here's the thing with purses. As evidenced by the plethora of offerings everywhere you go, clearly we women need choice. You've got to choose a lot of things. Style. Color. Shape. Fabric. Can it hold all my crap, but not require me to hire a chiropractor? Is it cute but not girly, or adult but not trampy? And if you're like me, am I going to see every other person with the same bag? Cuz I don't want that. I'm an individual, just like everybody else.
I have some general ideas when I'm looking. I personally like an open top with a zipper, which I will never, ever zip up. Two straps, long enough to carry on my shoulder but not so long it bonks my butt. Big enough for extra stuff if I want to tote extra stuff, but not so big my stuff gets lost inside if I'm just carrying my regular junk. And of course I have to like how it looks, which is a crapshoot from day to day.
So last week Spanky somehow got roped into shopping with me, and I spent well over an hour perusing the purses in a certain store. He was no help at all by the way. He refused to give opinions except to say, "It's ugly" to everything I even thought about picking up. We could have left a lot sooner if he'd given me some positive feedback. He did not, and I left the store praying God will bless him with many, many daughters.
So now I've found some great bags. And they're great for a reason. They cost $600 and more. I find that insane and simply cannot even think of that in a real-world type situation. After all, it's just going in the trunk in a week anyway.
The day she walks down the aisle to marry the man of her dreams.
The day she gives birth to her first child. And the second. And - I'm almost certain - all subsequent offspring. That sort of thing rarely gets old.
But let's face it. One of the highlights in every girl's life is the search for - and discovery of - the ultimate joy of the perfect purse. It's true.
Now I've been criticized a lot over the years about making too much out of this whole perfect purse phenomena. This has generally been done by men, therefore I have completely ignored it and them. Statements such as "Why do you need so many purses?" (um, because they're there!) and "What's the point in getting a new one; you only use it for a couple of weeks before you get tired of it and put it in the trunk" (yea, kid, careful with that...and be glad I have some scruples where you're concerned).
Here's the thing with purses. As evidenced by the plethora of offerings everywhere you go, clearly we women need choice. You've got to choose a lot of things. Style. Color. Shape. Fabric. Can it hold all my crap, but not require me to hire a chiropractor? Is it cute but not girly, or adult but not trampy? And if you're like me, am I going to see every other person with the same bag? Cuz I don't want that. I'm an individual, just like everybody else.
I have some general ideas when I'm looking. I personally like an open top with a zipper, which I will never, ever zip up. Two straps, long enough to carry on my shoulder but not so long it bonks my butt. Big enough for extra stuff if I want to tote extra stuff, but not so big my stuff gets lost inside if I'm just carrying my regular junk. And of course I have to like how it looks, which is a crapshoot from day to day.
So last week Spanky somehow got roped into shopping with me, and I spent well over an hour perusing the purses in a certain store. He was no help at all by the way. He refused to give opinions except to say, "It's ugly" to everything I even thought about picking up. We could have left a lot sooner if he'd given me some positive feedback. He did not, and I left the store praying God will bless him with many, many daughters.
So now I've found some great bags. And they're great for a reason. They cost $600 and more. I find that insane and simply cannot even think of that in a real-world type situation. After all, it's just going in the trunk in a week anyway.
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