BEING A REASONABLE ADULT

I kind of pride myself on being a reasonable adult. For instance, when my oldest child was little I wanted him to learn the proper names for things. I wanted him to have perfect grammar. I wanted to be the kind of a mother he deserved so there were no nicknames for anything.

When he was two we left him with a baby sitter while we went to the National Homebuilding show in Texas. We were gone five or six days. When we came home his life had been changed. He had newly acquired names for everything. The first one was "jammies." They had always been pajamas--the proper name. No more. Farewell, proper names for everything. So much for being a responsible adult.

Today I went to Weight Watchers. (Not that I'm following their diet, exactly. What I'm really doing is following Jorge Cruise's diet--the Belly Fat Cure. But, by Sunday I wanted sugar--this diet allows NO sugar. Well, 15 grams a day. That equals no sugar. So, I didn't do as well as I could have because, on Sunday, I had more carbs than I'm allowed and there was sugar in the vegan pepper steak--which was goood. So I was over my carbs and sugar, by a lot. I thought I would have gained but I lost three point something pounds.) Now, I ask you, is that something a reasonable adult would do, go to Weight Watchers but not follow their diet?

After Weight Watchers I went to DI (Deseret Industries--like Goodwill.) And I looked at clothes because my shirts are getting too big. And I found a bunch for anywhere from one to three dollars so I took them to the counter. Guess who left her credit card, drivers licence and all things important in her church bag? They wouldn't let me write a check without ID. So I had to come home and then go back.

When I was home Phil asked me what I was buying at DI. Then he said, "You're buying USED clothes?" as if I were doing something unreasonable, like rob a bank or try to sew something--anything--even a straight seam. Don't ask. I have been known to sew things together--like the item on the sewing machine and the clothes I'm wearing at the time. It's very embarassing to wear extra clothing, hanging off your shirt. The "picker-outer" is my best friend. Or was, when I sewed. I now do the reasonable thing and leave that chore to someone without a handful of thumbs.

"No, Phil, I'm buying new ones from the DI factory." Note to self: husband does not appreciate snide remarks. He might even think you are childish and not a responsible adult at all.

Leaving all my important stuff in my church bag, including my driver's license and then speeding to make the green (yellow--turning to red) light and making illegal lane changes. Is that reasonable?

And, really, who used to wear those clothes I bought? I think the reasonable thing to do is not to think about it, don't you? (They were washed and disinfected, weren't they? Say yes, say yes.)

I knew I was a reasonable adult all along. And, Trent, they are pajamas, and you ought to tell your kids that, just in case they have some other plebeian name for them. It's the reasonable thing to do.

I'M STUFFED

I found a bunch of my old clothes in the spare bedroom, which used to be Hillary's room, which "poof," almost overnight turned into a junk room--when she got married and moved away, years and years ago--and now it's time to clean it out. And guess what? Some of those clothes even fit--they used to be too tight. How did that happen, I wonder. So I hung them in my closet and now my closet is stuffed and I need to clean it out and I don't want to but if I don't I won't be able to find the new/old clothes and if--by some miracle--I do find them they will be wrinkled and I'll have to iron them and I hate to iron and so what's the use of finding them in the first place? I think I have a self defeating behavior. Besides run-on sentences with no punctuation.


The closet. Can you see how close the hangers are? Those clothes are positively gasping for air. The hangers on the far right are Phil's. See how nicely they are spaced?

I have 27 black items. How am I ever going to wear 27 black items?
I have 17 white shirts. Who in their right mind has 17 white shirts?

And there, on the far, far left are the darling clothes I bought when I only had a few pounds left to loose--okay, twenty. That was about a million years ago and I still have the clothes. They still have tags on. Will I ever get back to that impossible weight? sigh They are still darling. Still stylish. Still too skinny.

This is level two. The every-day-knock-about clothes. They are stuffed just as tight. Oh my.I don't even dare count the shoes.

And some of the clothes are in the dirty clothes or in the to-go-to-the-dry-cleaners stack. Where will they go when they are clean?

I should have left Hillary's old bedroom/the junk room alone.