Dandy & the Rose
What’s the best way to build self-confidence? It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times.
The simple answer is to believe in yourself. The harder question is: how do you do that when you’ve spent years believing something else?
I spent decades living in the shadows of family members, friends, co-workers, and complete strangers. Why? Because that’s what I was taught, and therefore what I believed.
I grew up with a sister who was put on a pedestal for just about everything she did. There’s an entire photo album to prove it.
We were born at a time when taking photos required effort. You had to buy film and flashbulbs, have the film developed, pick it up, and pay for every single picture.
In other words, photographs weren’t accidental.
So when there’s an entire album documenting your sister’s life before her first birthday, it says something. At least it did to me.
Apparently, I was also baptized, celebrated my first birthday, and received my First Holy Communion. I know because there is evidence.
No album. Case closed.
When you’re a kid, you don’t see the whys; you see what’s in front of you. Or, in my case, what wasn’t. To me, this was proof.
Proof that I wasn’t special.
Proof that she mattered more.
Proof that I should cheer from the sidelines where I belonged.
Then I packed up those beliefs and carried them to school, where they were reinforced by the adults I feared most.
The nuns.
My sister was two years ahead of me and had apparently left quite an impression. Every teacher seemed to know exactly who she was and exactly how wonderful she had been.
Then I arrived. The disappointment when they realized I wasn’t a carbon copy was impossible to miss.
“Your sister sat in the Rose Aisle. I don’t understand how you’re a dandelion.”
A freaking dandelion.
For those keeping score at home, Dandy the Dandelion endured twelve long years of that nonsense.
The strange thing is, I was never angry at my sister. If anything, I admired her to a fault.
I spent years talking about her accomplishments while barely mentioning my own. She was the smart one. The talented one. The successful one.
At least, that’s how I saw it.
Ironically, she was the one who got frustrated with me. Why?
Because she saw something I couldn’t. My value.
When she tried to talk me out of getting married at twenty, I assumed she was jealous.
When she encouraged me to take college classes, I assumed she wanted me to be more like her.
When she told me I was smart, talented, creative, and capable, I dismissed every word.
Why would I believe her?
I had already built a mountain of evidence proving otherwise.
There was a missing photo album.
The nuns.
The comparisons.
The labels.
The years spent cheering from the sidelines while everyone else seemed destined for center stage.
By then, “not good enough” wasn’t just a thought. It was my identity.
Looking back, I can see what I couldn’t see then. My sister wasn’t trying to compete with me or change me. She was trying to convince me of something she had known all along. That I belonged on the stage, too.
The problem wasn’t that nobody believed in me. The problem was that I had spent so many years believing everyone else’s opinion of me that I never bothered forming one of my own.
And that’s the thing about self-confidence. It isn’t built by becoming smarter, prettier, richer, or more successful than everyone else. It’s built when you stop letting other people decide your worth.
Talk about childhood baggage. At sixty-plus, I’m still unpacking.
Wait. What was the question again? Oh yeah.
How do you build self-confidence?
You stop believing the stories other people wrote about you and start writing your own.
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Just Call Me Rosie
I’ve already been disappointed by things I wanted to see in the future.
When I was a child, I firmly believed I’d be flying to work in my personal aircraft, walking my robot dog, and coming home after a long day to see Rosie the Robot cooking and cleaning. That’s the future I thought I was promised.
Well, here we are, more than half a century later, and I don’t have any of it. I’m still sitting in traffic. I’m Rosie, and the closest thing I have to a household pet is my vacuum cleaner, which I seem to fight with every time I use it.
So, when I read this question, I have a question of my own: how far into the future are we talking? Because I was already supposed to be living in the future at this point, and that prediction was missed by half a century. After patiently waiting 50-plus years for The Jetsons’ lifestyle to show up, and getting nadda, forgive me for not putting too much excitement into forecasts.
The problem I see with looking too far ahead is that we miss what we can do today to make change a reality.
As with most things in life, I believe that getting back to basics will create a better world for my grandchildren. Simplicity goes a long way, just ask every kid on Christmas morning who has the time of their life playing with a piece of wrapping paper.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped waiting for flying cars and started paying attention to the things that actually improve people’s lives. Most of them aren’t complicated. They’re the basics: kindness, responsibility, respect, common sense, strong families, good neighbors, and communities that look out for one another.
Technology has given us remarkable things, but it hasn’t solved every problem. In some cases, it has simply replaced old frustrations with new ones. The words Press 1 for can send the strongest of wills into a frenzy.
My interest in futuristic gadgets has faded over the years. The older I get, the more attracted I am to the character of the people who will inherit the future. After all, character is the foundation of any future worth having.
Back to the question at hand, I want to see some basic human qualities in the future.
Of course, this answer isn’t nearly as exciting as those flying cars and automated homes I dreamed of 50 years ago, and I know my younger self wouldn’t have been impressed at all, but it’s the one I believe in.
The future I would love to give my grandchildren is one with a little more kindness, responsibility, respect, and common sense. I’ll consider that a far greater achievement than finally getting my flying car.
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Bada Bing
Goodbyes are weird, whether they’re taking place on your TV screen or in your everyday life. There’s no clean-cut ending; things just seem to fade out.
This is probably why series endings have always felt awkward to me. It’s like trying to leave a dinner party when the goodbye never quite resolves into an actual exit. There’s always that strange final stretch of small talk with one hand on the doorknob while your mind is already halfway to the car.
I’m not a fan of shows wrapping up in a nice bow, which is probably why Hallmark Movies make me crazy. Is it nice to escape into that world sometimes? Sure, but if I’ve invested my time and energy into a series for years, I don’t want a neatly orchestrated ending
Maybe that’s why I prefer endings that leave me hanging. I know I’ll probably get a lot of grief for that, but to me, that’s the perfect way to end a story. Let me finish it myself. The Sopranos understood the assignment. They trusted us with the uncertainty, which actually keeps the characters and the show alive long after it ends.
Isn’t that the whole point, anyway? To keep the curiosity alive after the screen goes black?
I want something that lingers. Something that makes me pause, but keeps the story going in my head.
My perfect ending? The Sopranos.
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The Ache of Familiarity
I can’t stop thinking about Rob Reiner. I keep asking myself why. His death has settled into me in a way I can’t quite name. We never met. We shared no friends, no blood, no history. We lived in different orbits, so why does his absence ache like something personal? Why does the knowledge of his death ache?
Yes, the tragic way he left this world weighs on me, of course. But that isn’t the root of it.
The truth came to me in a dream last night; it was familiarity. He had been an integral part of my life for decades, not in person, but in something just as intimate. He was flickering through television screens, filling movie theaters, shaping the background noise of my growing up. And that mattered.
My family watched All in the Family from the very beginning in 1971. I was seven years old, too young to understand the politics or the jokes, but old enough to absorb the feeling of it. The show became a mirror, reflecting my own home back at me. Loud fathers. Quiet mothers. Slamming doors. Arguments that somehow dissolved into laughter. It taught me, without words, that I wasn’t alone, that our chaos was shared, familiar, even lovable. We were the “different” family on the block, and that was okay.
So maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about him. Not because I knew him, but because he knew something about me. About us. About families and flaws and love that bangs around loudly before settling into laughter.
This feeling of grief that I’m having isn’t necessarily for Rob Reiner the person. It’s for what he gave that seven-year-old little girl in her living room the first time she experienced his work, the gift of recognition. The feeling of being seen before I even knew I needed it.
Rest in peace, Rob Reiner. You certainly enjoyed your ride and made mine better.
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What In The What?
One of my early childhood dreams was to be a mailman. I say “mailman” because when I was a kid, women were busy being housewives. We did not have “carriers”; we had “men.”
To this day, I can’t explain my attraction to this career path, but if I were to guess, it was probably all of the “hello, how ya doings?” Everyone loved to see him heading down the street.
What was not to love? He was the bearer of cards celebrating special occasions, letters from loved ones, and an occasional check. A celebrity every day.
Don’t get me started on the idle chitchat with folks on the route or an unplanned life-saving event due to mail piling up and actually noticing. I do this now for free.
We’re not going to discuss the bills; they were a given.
I was probably deterred by the rain, snow, and sleet motto, only to find out when writing this essay that it was all a LIE.
“The U.S. Postal Service has no official motto. Nope, it’s not this: “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” But we certainly appreciate the sentiment.“
US Postal Service
No doubt I heard “gloom of night” and said, “I’m out!”
Anyway, fast forward to yesterday when I went to the post office to mail a package containing a book. The book recipient informed me of a book rate that cuts the shipping cost. Who knew? Not me.
However, I was not informed then that an FBI-like interrogation went along with using this discounted rate. Folks, there is always a damn price to pay!
As always, I waited in line for the lone over-worked employee to address me.
Me: I want to mail this box at the book rate, please.
Overworked employee: Is there a book in the box?
Me: Yes
OE: Is there anything else in the box?
Me: No
OE: Is there a card in the box?
Me: No
OE: A letter?
Me: Um, no.
OE: Chocolate?
Me: There’snothing else in the box.
OE: Ok, fine. Can I get you anything else?
Me: Yes, can I get two books of Christmas stamps?
OE: Which ones?
Me: Not the religious ones, the other ones.
OE: The Elves or the Otters?
Me: One of each, please.
OE: You know they’re brown?
Me: What’sbrown?
OE: The Elves.
Me: (Looking at the stamps.) They’re Elves.
OE: Yeah, but they’re brown.
Me: Elves aren’t real.
OE: I know; I’m just saying they’re brown.
Me: So are the Otters.
I got my tracking receipt, turned around to leave, looked into the dead stares of a long line of people, and went my merry way. What in the what?
Enjoy the Ride!
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No Questions Asked
I recently ran late for work, which is very out of character for this early bird. Of course, it had nothing to do with me. Nope, I have to blame it on the dog. The ole “the dog ate my homework” just reached a new level.
Every day before I leave for the salt mines I take my love bugs for a walk. They are well aware of this routine and are normally waiting on me. This particular morning Peanut was suddenly MIA. As I was calling him I could actually hear the panic in my voice. Pets are not spared from my zero to catastrophic reasoning.
I ran up the steps expecting to find a four-legged comatose dog, but instead, I found a stuffed Ladybug smoking a cigarette in the hallway. (not really we don’t allow smoking in the house) and Pee Wee paralyzed by an erection in the bedroom! (erections are always welcome, except in this moment) Oh yes, this was happening.
Look, if you’re going to be late, I’m certain the line “I’m sorry I’m late I had to wait for my dogs erection to recede in order to take him out for his morning poop” will not only work, it just may go down in infamy at work places across the land. No questions asked.
My first jaw-dropping excuse came from Jackie, a young girl from the hood, who I had the pleasure of knowing early on in my working career. She called out one morning with this gem. “I won’t be in today, my boyfriend dropped his gun on my foot and I can’t walk.” It’s solidly shocking enough not to question its authenticity. Feel better and leave his ass is all that can follow.
Of course, all excuses can not be as great as these two, so we settle for what I like to call “The Lazy.” This is when you just roll over, pick up the phone and make that call before ever uttering a single word. You proceed to sound as if you’ve crawled through the dessert for a week while stating you are soooooooo sick you feel as if were hit by a truck. Yes, the groggy morning voice works but it’s lazy, lacks creativity and leaves you in the position of answering questions about your miraculous recovery the following day. Effort and imagination are your friends, people.
Then there is this classic, “The Silencer”. You start off strong with “everything is coming out of both ends.” Although this statement will have you on and off the phone in a nano second, it will also leave the door open. The recipient is left to wonder “how in gods name are you making this call?” or they are imaging you sitting on the toilet. Now one of you must die.
But I must say, nothing to date has even come close to the lengths one of my sister’s co-workers went in order to dodge a huge meeting in NYC. Are you familiar with the saying “less is more”? Well, you’re about to be.
This guy was one of those co-workers that had an all talk no show kind of work ethic. We’ve all had one of these in our lives.
My sister on the other hand is nothing short of a psycho perfectionist with standards through the roof. Martha Stewart meets Walmart.
She knew there was no way in the world he was prepared for this presentation. Even by his lazy standards.
Mr. Unprepared headed to the train station with his empty briefcase. The briefcase of deceit.
The next day the office received a call that Mr. Unprepared was a no-show to the meeting. Shocking.
This simple act now transpired into frantic phone calls to his cell, the hotel, the client, his family and anyone else on the planet who may have information on his whereabouts. This went on ALL day.
Imagine a full-blown investigation, manhunt, milk cartons being prepped for his photo and my sister feeling a tad guilty for all of those lovely adjectives she used to describe him. Just a tad.
Shit got real when his wife showed up at the office in tears with their baby and his parents with the faces of fear and anguish. All of this over not being prepared.
After hours of worry for everyone, and the revelation of huge holes in his timeline, he surfaced to state that he was robbed and disoriented. Really now ….
Ironically, once again his creativity fell short. If you’re planning on going to this extreme you better be the master. This guy wasn’t even close.
He came back to the office with no signs of a struggle, other than his smile. Talk about leaving the door open for questions. “I ate some bad sushi from a street vendor” would have been the appropriate way to go in this situation. Short and sweet.
This guy was the definition of Douchebaggery!
While everyone was fawning over his safe return, my sister was giving him the “I know what you did last night” eye. He knew that she was on to him.
So, what do rats do when they’re trapped in a corner? They head to HR with lies about their trapper. Oh yes he did.
Let’s just say he probably never saw the knock on his door, followed by the words “Hey Pussy, can I talk to you?” coming.
Enjoy the Ride! No questions asked.
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There’s Always A Story
I recently saw the quote “Alcohol, because no great story ever started with someone eating a salad.” This may be true but something tells me I could get a great story out of eating salad. There’s always a story.
Recently I went to the local mall in search of some fancy shoes to wear to a wedding. My feet have not seen anything fancy in years, so this was not going to be easy. I already ordered and returned two pair. Cinderella I am not.
My first mistake was bypassing Macy’s. The logic, if that’s what you want to call it, was to try stores I never shop in first. Why?
First up: Shoe Carnival. How inviting does that sound? I was in, out and emptied handed in 5 seconds. Carnival is the key word.
Next, I headed down to Boscov’s, where everyone on the planet seems to find amazing merchandise basically for free, except me. As I was browsing the shoe department my intestines began to rumble…oh yes! Glutes tight as I head to the ladies room.
I proceeded to do the shit shuffle from the shoe department, up the escalator, through the furniture department, where I was blocked by a kid throwing a full-blown temper tantrum over the lack of Pokemons. Get the hell out of my way!
This journey seemed 5 miles long through tar at this point. I headed down some godforsaken 1980’s hallway to the turn of the century bathroom where the gates of hell opened. No words.
Now that I was a least 2 pounds lighter I headed back out to the Mall with every intention of heading home. But no.
I made a sharp right and headed to Sears, because who the hell knows. There I was gazing over the shoes when a women dressed in red from head to toe, approached me with this statement. “If you keep smiling I’m going to file a lawsuit against you.” Alrighty then …
As I look for a glimmer of sanity I notice a man looking at me shrugging his shoulders. Seriously! That’s all you have is a shrug?
Ugh, I stood there alone smiling and now fearing a potential lawsuit. I decided home is where I need to go. Nope.
Just as I was about to escape I noticed the smile police browsing books at Barnes & Noble. She appeared very normal in that moment.
Next thing I know she is heading my way as if my smile was on the list of the 10 most wanted! Suddenly she is inches from me when she gave me another warning. “I told you to stop smiling!!” Good thing I hit the bathroom before this moment.
I found myself hiding in the Hallmark store texting my daughter and sisters about the incident, just in case I went missing. I learned that trick from Law and Order SVU.
At this point a normal person would have been sprinting to the car … not me.
Macy’s was my last stop. Within seconds I had a beautiful pair of sparkly shoes on my hooves. Life was good again for a nano second.
A lovely woman sat down next to me admiring my selection. I loved these shoes! I would have loved them more if I had the 4th toe on my Right foot amputated, but that was not an option. Yet.
We were chatting about the wedding, my need for an emergency amputation, and the fact that my shoes need to be beautiful and comfortable when she began digging down into her bra. I should have known this was not just an adjustment.
Just like a magician she pulls out a pair of dentures, puts them in her mouth and apologizes for talking to me without her teeth. A rabbit would have been less shocking.
My face must have been asking all sorts of questions, because she proceeded to inform me that her 70th birthday was coming up and she no longer cared what people thought. Truth!
At this point of my tale my husband asked “did you finally leave?”
Me: No, I asked her when her birthday was?
Husband: Why?
Me: I wanted to know.
Husband: Why?
Me: Because I wanted to know if she was a Leo.
Husband: Why do you care?
Me: Just be glad I do.
Although I left the mall without shoes, I did get this post.
That wedding I was talking about is TODAY!!!!
My nephew Ryan is getting hitched to his beautiful bride Monica. Hurricane Hermine is a no show in PA, and we are about to get this party started!
Enjoy the Ride … I know I will!
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Lone Cheetos
I recently wrote about three of patients, that in spite of their age, are living vital active lives and they aren’t afraid to share their wisdom amongst the masses on the importance of doing just that. When Harry, Norman & Robert Met Lisa
The jury is still out on what has been happening since that essay. Is it coincidence, a conspiracy, my vivid imagination? Or all of the above.
While food shopping, a clerk who has never uttered a single word to me before, suddenly starts discussing the downside of growing older …. with ME …. as if we were one. My cart was not filled with adult diapers so back it up lady.
Just when I thought I was safe, my neighbor approaches to strike up a conversation about bones. Pointing out how “our” bones aren’t the same when “we” get older. My bones are cool thank you very much.
It’s now obvious to me that once the post office realizes you’ve turned the big 50, your regular mailman is replaced with the Grim Reaper. When death starts to moonlight … I can’t.
The amount of geriatric mail that enters my mailbox is ridiculous. Yesterday I received a pamphlet from the Sunny Hill Crematory. Seriously now! I’ll assume the Victoria Secret catalogs are now being placed in those younger, more attractive mailboxes down the street.
Not me!
AARP has literally hijacked my mailbox with their paraphernalia. The amount of literature is equal to political ads. I’m only 2 years in bitch, save your stamps!
Back in the day the Grim Reaper kept his distance, giving nature a chance to take its course. Sooooo …. WTF happened? Why the constant notification? What’s the rush to the grave?
To put this in perspective, at my current age, my parents were working, functioning adults with active lives. My dad was 57 when I was born for god sakes, so I wasn’t even thought of when he was 52. Let that fester for a minute AARP!
It’s as if society is pushing us closer to the cliffs edge to make room for the newer improved models. We’re not cell phones, so calm your jets!
No one is spared really. I see this rush is across the board. While adults are being pushed into the grave at 50, the poor 10 year olds are being thrown into adulthood. I was basically in a playpen at 10 compared to kids today.
I know, I know, I must sound very geriatric right now comparing generations, but it’s more than a “back when I was a kid” comparison. I’m not that girl … I’m really not.
It’s just that when it comes to aging, society has become an aggressive seagull and I’m starting to feel like a lone Cheeto waiting to be swiped up by its talons. Back it up!
Don’t get me wrong, my inner geriatric has raised its snow-capped head for brief appearances, but I’m still young enough to shove it right back in the closet. Hey, those skeletons need some company.
I’m not trying to be a teenager here folks, I’m just trying to age gracefully while I continue to … Enjoy the Ride!
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When Harry, Norman & Robert Met Lisa
Three wise men walked into a Podiatrist office. No, this is not the beginning of a joke about aging feet, it’s the story of one of the best days I’ve had at work in a long time.
Let me introduce you to Harry, Norman & Robert. Three interesting, intelligent and inspiring men who walked into the office, dropped some wisdom and went about their day.
Harry -83 years young: Harry is a recent surgery patient with a wonderful sense of humor.
When he came in for his first post-op appointment he said, and I quote: “I want to thank Lisa for answering all of my questions, she is a fountain of knowledge.” I asked him to call my children to inform them of that fact, he thought I was kidding … I was not.
Believe it or not, the accurate conclusion that Harry made about me was not what captured my heart. But, it certainly didn’t hurt.
Harry told me that he volunteers in a first-grade classroom, and has been doing it for years. He was so happy that the teacher had the class send him Get Well wishes after his surgery, but there was a catch, they had to include a joke. Laughter is the best medicine.
This gesture filled Harry’s heart. He told me that he enjoys volunteering in the First Grade classroom because it gives him the joy to see these children enter the door not certain what to expect and leave with confidence.
He went on to explain that he has a special bond with this teacher. Harry lost his son years ago in November, just when this teacher was getting married. One young life ending as one began.
Shortly after the teacher was married she found out she was expecting and 3 months into the pregnancy her new husband died suddenly. Grief, let me introduce you to grief.
Their losses brought them together and they are wonderful friends who helped each other heal. He’s been volunteering ever since.
83 years old, still thinking, still living and still making a mark in this world.
Norman-86 years young: He came to us a few months ago via his family doctor, which is never good, and let’s just say that “the little piggy that went to the market” never came back.
When he called the other day he was very nervous that “the little piggy that stayed home” was on its way out too so we made room on the schedule. Podiatry office humor.
Norman came in as if he was the guest of honor at a celebration, not someone with a potential gangrenous toe.
He was wearing a Villanova cap to “make the doctor happy” since his daughter is a student and it was the day of the championship game. Well played Norman, well-played indeed.
Norman was excited to reveal he had recently written a paper on aging. When I took him to the exam room I had to inquire about the paper. I was very curious.
I was thinking he wrote it for the AARP magazine. Nope, he said, “I wrote it for my family, I want them to know how quickly it comes up on you.” A warning of sorts.
The title of the paper is “Getting Old Is Not For Sissies.” Norman told me he stole that line from Bette Davis, an actress I wouldn’t know because, and I quote “you’re too young to remember her.” He had me at “too young.”
Norman still can’t believe he is 86. He doesn’t recognize the person in the mirror. Still has a lot to share with this world. Has an incredible sense of humor, and wants nothing more than for his family to be happy.
Norman is going to drop off a copy of the paper for me to read. No worries, I will share.
Robert-91 years young: Robert came in for a routine appointment. As soon as he came to the window he showed my co-worker a photo of him and his wife from 1941. They looked like movie stars.
Robert is a tall man, but frail. No doubt more so since he lost the love of his life. He told my co-worker a story that left them both with watery eyes.
Later I asked her about it and of course, I too was left with watery eyes. We’re so sappy sometimes.
Robert explained that he and his wife were sitting at the kitchen table and she asked: “How long have we been married?” Robert responded with “65 years dear.” Her response was “I have not regretted one day in 65 years.” Robert explained that even though she is gone, he is still stunned by her words. He is a walking, talking broken heart.
I was also taken back by my co-worker’s response to Robert which was “It was nice to be able to hear that Robert.” Indeed, it was.
I must say, it was a pleasure to pick-up these three men while I … Enjoy the Ride!
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4 Loose Tiles
What was once the yard
There has been a lot of activity going on here at the homestead. 23 years and not one has passed without some sort of project, so why should this year be any different. Because maybe I need a break.
I had no idea about this project until I saw the sketches. Notice that is plural.
One minute I’m attending an open house, and the next there are steel beams being erected in my yard. Confused? Me too.
Sooooooo, after a very long process the ground was broken, just in time for the holidays. Thank you Mother Nature.
What woman doesn’t want to clean-up never ending dirt during the holidays? The answer is … NONE OF THEM!
My friends, neighbors and anyone who sees our house, constantly remind me how “lucky” I am to have such a “handy guy.” Handy is fixing a pipe, I have someone who sees a mantle inside of a tree stump.
It’s not that I’m ungrateful or that I won’t be over the moon with the results, it’s the lonely road in between that does me in. I’m a Home Improvement Widow!
Lisa
During these periods of “tinkering”, we can sit in the same room and one of us (not me) has no recollection of that period of time.Why? Because the wheels are spinning at a rate that I cannot even recognize. I’m surprised he doesn’t explode.
My life from now until the last stroke of the paintbrush will be solo. My other half is officially consumed into his project. His creative juices are percolating and his magic is about to be unleashed. Meanwhile over here ….
Legos for adults should really be a thing.
As if this enormous project wasn’t enough to occupy every waking moment, we had a recent mishap in our bathroom. 4 loose tiles to be exact. Remember that line.
The solution to this was put the masterpiece outback on hold, take a week of vacation time to “fix” the bathroom and you’ll be taking a shower in a week he said….
We only have one bathroom with a shower. The other bathroom has a beautiful spa tub. You know that saying “too much of a good thing won’t be good” it’s like that.
On the Saturday before the big fix I asked, and I quote: “Are you going to paint?” the response, which will be used by me every chance I get from now, until well … forever was “Yes, I’m going to paint.”
4….Loose….Tiles
By the time I returned home Monday there was, let’s just say much more progress than I expected. Shock and awe were more like it.
There were FOUR loose tiles people.
Yes, he said he was going to “rearrange” the toilet and the sink.
No, he did NOT say anything about demolition … AT ALL! He said he was going to paint!!!
Needless to say, the week came and went. Progress is being made, but I’m still not showering or murdering.
The tile is down. The molding is up. The shower is on BACK ORDER. The toilet, sink and walls have not been spotted, but my patience is still intact. Hanging by a thread…but still on.
It’s all about balance
My favorite part about all of this is using my new Super Power. That’s right folks, the line “you said you were going to paint” is my new go to for everything ever wanted by yours truly.
Me: I think I’m going to order new cushions for the patio.
Hubby: Do we really need them?
Me: You said you were going to paint. They arrive Tuesday.
I just love the Yin/Yang of life!
Enjoy the Ride!
Life With The Top Down 
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