I would totally marry George Jetson...if I could have a robot maid

When I was a kid The Jetsons were a staple of our TV viewing. Maybe it's my lazy alter-ego, but there was just something incredible about having a robot maid do your work for you, robotic arms bursting through the wall to do anything you didn't feel like doing [just can't reach that itchy spot on my back--why, thank you robot arm!]. Or, the air tube that zoomed you from one place to the next and the chair that carried you anywhere you didn't care to walk yourself. Aaagh, a girl can dream, right?

I'm sitting here thinking I should go to bed. But, my body is resisting. In my head, I understand the consequences of staying up late. When I wake up groggy and irritable in the morning, I'll berate myself for my irresponsibility. But, I just can't will my body to get up and do all the "stuff" that getting ready for bed entails. If it were only as simple as getting into bed and falling asleep. Before I go to bed I still have to...switch loads of laundry, fold the dry load, turn on the dishwasher, turn off all the lights, lock the doors, tidy up along the way, brush my teeth, put on pjs, write a teacher note for one kid, write a check for sports and prepare to mail, search the house for scattered library items to return tomorrow, and on, and on, and on. From the comfort of the couch, these things seem monumental. Sitting here is so relaxing. I have an endless supply of programming available on cable. I've got a drink, a warm blanket, the world at my fingertips on the computer, and my phone...I'd say I'm good...for, oh, the next week or more.

So, what puts us over the edge toward movement? What gives us the momentum we need to change direction or move forward? Maybe it's the reward--a warm and cozy bed, well deserved rest? I'm thinking that's what will do it for me. I'm going to admit something to you...just between you and me...I actually make an audible moan of pleasure getting into bed. Sounds creepy, right? I know. But, oh, the feeling that you are done for the day; that, even though there may be dirty dishes in the sink, laundry sitting wet in the washer, and a myriad of other tasks still on the list, it's over and I can finally let go. It's truly the most selfish thing I do every day...setting everything aside to do something for myself--sleep.

So, what's holding me back? If I love my bed and sleep so much why can't I just get moving? It's calling me..can you hear it? "Come to bed...get some rest." Instead, here I sit...can't will myself to move. Maybe if I roll there? Anyone out there willing to come and carry me? Now that I think of it, this couch is looking inviting. If I just fall over on my side I'll be in a perfect position to sleep. A blanket, pillow, couch...even an alarm on my phone...no need to even get up!

Okay, feet planted on the floor...quadriceps tightened...forward momentum with my upper body...and, I did it! I'm up! Now, if only that mechanical chair and robotic maid were here to take care of the rest.

Let the lovin' commence!

That ooey-gooey day of love has reared it's hot-blooded head again. And, as with all major holidays, it's a good time to reflect on Valentine's past, present, and future...think A Christmas Carol for cupid.

The many-years-ago past: My 6th grade boyfriend (I know, I know...I was an early bloomer and I use the word "boyfriend" loosely) gave me the art project we were supposed to give to our parents. It was layers of red construction paper hearts glued together about an inch high and 2.5 inches around, and shellacked to a shiny finish. He had written "I love you" on it. It was so sweet and I still have it to this day. Let's keep this our secret...wouldn't want my husband to be jealous of my 25 year old "relationship."

Forward a few years: Receiving 6 red carnations through my high school's Valentine fundraiser was a shocker. (I, apparently, had dated enough in middle school as I didn't date in high school.) They were signed "A Secret Friend" whom I later found to be one of my great guy friends. Notice, I don't say boyfriend. We never ended up dating after that...not sure why. So sweet and this year he's enjoying his first Valentine's as a "spouse" with the woman of his dreams...so happy for him.

Early College: My dear friend (and roommate) and I were consummate downers regarding Valentine's. We claimed it as our very own Black [insert day of the week] regardless of the day it landed on. No, not the day you go shopping...broke college students don't go shopping! We wore black and ate ALL day. It was all about the food. Because, food IS love, right?? And, it just happened that my yearly doctor visit happened around Valentine's Day. I can still recall the same nurse every year making the same bad joke--"Happy V-D day." Yes, it was that kind of doctor visit.

Late College: I had finally snagged the man of my dreams. Apparently, I went to college for my MRS. degree [insert pathetic laugh here]. My honey proposed to me on Valentine's Day at the edge of Lake Michigan in the freezing cold. We couldn't see the lake because of the fog, but it was still very sweet. I skipped all my classes that day and watched all the proposals and surprise weddings on Oprah [insert tears here]. Quite a change from the Black Friday of a few year's earlier.And, just the beginning of a series of romantic dinners, gifts, jewelry, flowers, cards. I know...disgustingly sweet.

Now: After 13 years of marriage, our V-Day has been relegated to..."Honey Dear Love of My Life, are we doing gifts this year?" [crossing fingers for a "no"] and, then..."Sorry, Sweety-Pie Highlight of My Life, I didn't get you anything." [uncross fingers, sigh of relief--dodged another one]. Okay, sans the gooey names...it really has come to this! Instead of a romantic dinner at a posh restaurant, we're meeting friends for a movie (with all of our kids) and then getting pizza afterward. It will not be the romantic evenings of our younger marriage, but great fun, nonetheless.

The Future: Who knows? Guessing the gift situation will remain giftless as we begin repaying student loans soon and my spouse begins racking up his own student loans as he starts schooling of his own. But, like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, we've learned through the past and present that it's not about what you receive, it's about what you are able to give. And, we both have lots of love to give...no, potty-mind, not that kind of love.

My challenge to you on this ooey-gooey day of loving is to love the person closest to you with all you have to offer. Whether it's your child, your spouse, your parent, your neighbor, or, most importantly, yourself. Celebrate this day as it should be...full of love, admiration, respect, caring, and faith in the world and each other.

Where have all my "friends" gone?

So, tonight I was procrastinating--again [insert eye-roll here]. I know...I think someone put a curse on me to always be a procrastinator. Anyway - I clicked over to Facebook [again with the eye-roll]. As I scanned down my list of friend updates, I felt like I was seeing the same people again and again. Yes, there were the regular posters and an equal amount that never post anything. But, beyond those...where were the rest of my 150 friends? (I know--you can't believe I have 150 friends--me either).

Then, I remembered...and, I felt a small pang of guilt...I had "hidden" them. You know---hiding is when you decide you can't do the mature thing and unfriend someone that offends or irritates you so you just hide them. They don't know and the "friend"ship continues unscathed. Well, once I searched around a bit, I found a list of all the "friends" I had hidden...32 to be exact. That's [insert your own math here] percent of my 150 total. I know...shame on me. (If there was a distinction between "good" and "bad" friends on FB, I would definitely be questionable.) But, then I couldn't remember why I had hidden them in the first place. So, I unhid them all.

[fast forward two hours]

While working diligently, I took a "peak" over to Facebook (peaking is not really procrastinating, right?)...And, my FB wall is packed with "______ was just tagged [insert picture of cleavage]" or "I can't believe ______. She is such a ________." and some things I can't even say out loud. Good grief, Charlie Brown. NOW I remember why I hid them. Ugh! You may say that I am being judgmental and elitest...you'd be correct. My time and wall space are valuable and your drama need not clog the system.

On the other hand, Facebook is a wonderful kind of craziness...it's a free for all and that's why I love it. I love hearing about your beer-brewing antics, your standing in line at grocery store, the funny thing your kid just said. I love that you share music, videos, and links to some wild stuff. And, I love to cheer you on as you lose weight, support your favorite team, or need to rant about the weather. But, if I want to look at cleaveage, I have my own and I know that ________ is a total ________. Needless to say, I have re-started the process of hiding "friends."

Now...this may leave you pondering two questions:

1) Why don't I just unfriend them? I am way too immature for that. And, I wouldn't want them to think I'm unfriendly and don't want to be their friend (even though we aren't really friends at all).

and

2) Have I hidden you? Hmmmm....shown any cleavage lately?

I'm way too old to be embarrassed...or, am I?

As the kids would say...I totally biffed it yesterday on the driveway. For us older folks, this translates to "I slipped on the ice and fell flat on my back." I know, all you ice-mavens are asking why I wasn't doing the penguin shuffle? For those of you with little to no experience walking on ice this is that goofy-looking walk that really should be categorized as a slide rather than a walk since you barely lift your feet (think 95 year old nursing home resident shuffling down the hallway). I'll admit I was in an infantile huff over something (what was that about, anyway?) and neglected everything I've learned from my lifetime of winter experience. Despite knowing that a slick patch of ice was lurking under the snow by the front steps, I was doing more stomping than walking, stepped right on that ice and landed on my back catching my ribs on the corner of the bottom step...[insert your sympathy here]. Ugh!

As I lay on the driveway in full view of all God's creation for a few minutes gathering myself together and assessing the damage to my aching body (I was only bruised, thank heavens), my thoughts gave rise to the embarrassment factor. Since I spent most of my younger years embarrassed by everything, I had thought I was over this. But, I couldn't decide if I wanted someone to come upon me and offer their assistance or if the situation was just too embarrassing. The aches, wet, and cold are quickly multiplying and all I can do is argue with myself over why, if at all, I should be embarrassed. I am an adult and falls happen to everyone. There really should be no embarrassment at all. But, there I lay...contemplating the need for help versus having someone see me in such a predicament. Will I never grow up? Why is it that we get embarrassed over something we have no control over? Or, did I? Maybe I was more embarrassed that I wouldn't have fallen at all were I not being immature and sulking.

So, my lesson for this week is...okay, my lessons (plural) for the week are: 1) think twice about throwing a tantrum--they never get you anywhere, and may just get you bruised up; 2) if you fall, either get yourself up or call for help--laying on the cold snowy driveway arguing with yourself is futile and only makes you more miserable; 3) the pain from a fall is far worse on day two; and 4) you are never to old to be embarrassed, but pick and choose when to allow it--walking around with your skirt tucked up into your pantyhose, thereby showing your bum to your coworkers is embarrassing - falling on a patch of ice isn't.

And, yes, I have experienced number 4...it was embarrassing and reason number #459 why no one should wear pantyhose anymore...they are an embarrassment opportunity just waiting to happen.