Let me tell you a story

This is for my Never Trump peeps.

How much have you thought about Martin O’ Malley in the last year? You probably barely thought about him while he was running for the Democratic nomination, much less any thought to him since he dropped out.

I hope that brings some perspective to what Bernie Sanders and his revolution accomplished. Y’all, we weren’t supposed to even remember his name. He was supposed to be that Jewish guy that ran against Hillary.

I always think about this piece from a story about Jane Sanders getting on board with the idea for running for president:

When Bernie Sanders first broached the idea of running for president, Jane Sanders was not initially on board.

“First I said, ‘How can you win? We’re from a small state,’ ” she recalled. “I know the issues are important, but isn’t there another way for these issues to be discussed? I kept on saying, ‘Can’t you write a book? Can’t you start an organization? Can’t you do a speaking tour?’ And he kept on saying, ‘Yes, I can do all those things, and it’s not going to matter at all. It’s not going to change the conversation.’ 

Bernie didn’t get in this race to win (I mean, he did, but he knew what he was up against). He got in this race so that WE THE PEOPLE would start talking. And not talking about emails or who spent more money in which state or how many wives someone has, but talking about issues.

He wanted to get the country we love to talk about income inequality. To talk about the universal right to healthcare. To talk about trade that killed American incomes. To talk about how it’s not ok to let Wal-mart pay single moms $7 an hour and then shame them when they need food stamps to feed their babies. To talk about wars that we didn’t need to be in. To talk about corporatism. To talk about climate change solutions so our kids will have a planet to call home.

He changed the conversation. And if we play this right, the conversation stays here until it gets answers for all of the above.

Bernie won a lot of people’s hearts. And now he’s asking us to give those hearts to Hillary. Yes, I feel like a little kid getting dropped off at day care for the first time:

Do I trust Hillary? You want the truth? Nope. Not really. But I am the queen of a reframe, so let’s dive in…

What if Hillary looked a lot like Bernie on the day she became the First Lady? What if she believed in universal healthcare and being more than a FLOTUS that read books to kindergartners? What if she really wanted to shake the system up?

But then the Establishment happened. And healthcare for all was a failure. And maybe she didn’t quit believing in the progressive stuff, but she quit wearing her heart on her sleeve.

First things first. In my opinion, Bernie’s purity is a sign of his privilege. He’s a white man that can say a lot of crazy things (“Hey, Alan Greenspan, you’re destroying America”) and still get elected to office. I don’t believe women have that privilege. Even First Ladies turned Senators turned Secretaries of State. We don’t get to wear our hearts or our opinions so freely.

Hillary played the game. That’s why we are afraid of her. That’s why we hate her. She became one of Them.

Sharp left turn coming up.

I watched the Jaycee Dugard story a couple of nights ago on 20/20. That woman is amazing. She was held hostage for 18 years by an insane couple. She goes around telling professionals that they need to stop it with the Stockholm Syndrome thing. She argues that you aren’t “falling in love” with your captor, you’re doing what you have to do to survive. She referenced this YouTube video to show what it looks like to pretend to be dead in order to survive:

What if Hillary isn’t the Establishment? What if she has survived the Establishment? What if she’s been playing ‘dead’ and now that we’ve finally caught up as a country she can bounce back to life and be a true part of the progressive Dream Team WITH Warren and Sanders? What if they didn’t push her Left? What if she’s simply been waiting?

Maybe Hillary has been guarded for 30 years, believing that she couldn’t be progressive because that one time she tried it failed miserably. Maybe she’s scared to believe she can let her progressive freak flag wave. Maybe she can’t wait to be the nerdy, know-it-all, get-crap-done, Progressive Queen she has wanted to be since 1992.

Maybe.

I really don’t know.

But I do know that the current narrative that #BernieOrBust-ers are going to hand the election to Trump is wildly inaccurate. A lame campaign attempting to make everyone happy, coloring within the political lines of 1996, telling a story that’s simply “Vote for ‘Gina” because #woman, blaming an old man that was trying to decide between going on a book tour or run for president and accidentally started our generation’s political revolution because he can’t get his people ‘in line’, that is what will hand Donald Trump the White House.

The Clinton campaign has the perfect villain, now they just need to tell us the authentic & believable story of how the Secretary in Shining Armor saves the day.

*As a marriage therapist-type person, seeing a bunch of Democrats (not Progressives) tell emotional Bernie people to “quit being a baby” or “get over it and do what’s right” is the exact same thing as a husband saying, “Are you really crying over this?” when he forgets your birthday. Yes, it hurts. Yes, we need time. And if you condescend to me or tell me to “get over it” I will poison your dinner. Watch yourself before you wreck yourself.

This is our problem, Church

This post is for my fellow Christ followers.

Most of the time I’m like everyone else watching the United States of America the last couple of weeks.

It breaks my heart that there’s a mom looking at her little brown baby and genuinely terrified about the day he becomes too scary. Terrified about the day he becomes ok to murder.

It breaks my heart that there are babies watching their good moms and dads leave for work to serve their community scared they might not make it home.

It breaks my heart that there’s so much hurt that none of us can hear straight.

But these are nothing compared to the heartbreak I feel over the silence from the Church.

I get why the world is fuming and hopeless. I truly do. The entire thing is a cluster. I get why violence feels like an answer. It’s what naturally happens when we have felt unheard for too long. We cannot expect anything different from our flesh.

But when I see the Church fail to be the Church? I don’t even have words.

But Jesus did have the words…

I’m praying not only for them
But also for those who will believe in me
Because of them and their witness about me.
The goal is for all of them to become one heart and mind—
Just as you, Father, are in me and I in you,
So they might be one heart and mind with us.
Then the world might believe that you, in fact, sent me.
The same glory you gave me, I gave them,
So they’ll be as unified and together as we are—
I in them and you in me.
Then they’ll be mature in this oneness,
And give the godless world evidence
That you’ve sent me and loved them
In the same way you’ve loved me.

Our oneness gives the godless world evidence that Jesus was sent here because God loved all of us.

If ‘saving the world in the name of Jesus Christ’ matters to you then UNITY IN THE BODY OF CHRIST MATTERS TO YOU.

You want to ‘prove’ that God is real? THEN CARE ABOUT EVERY SINGLE MEMBER OF HIS BODY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It makes me weep that when the race conversation blows up on CNN or Fox or your local Facebook page no one ever says, “How do we fix this? Let’s ask the Church! They have it figured out!” And do you know why they don’t ask us about racial reconciliation and how to become One?

Because Sundays are the most segregated day of the week. And everyone is ok with that.

Because when schools were desegregated churches responded by opening private schools so that their kids would never have to mix.

Because when I went on my first church trip as a teenager in 1999 the conversation in the van was whether or not it was ok to date outside of your race. IN NINETEEN NINETY NINE. 

No one looks at the Church’s ability to unite across racial lines and says, “Yes! That’s how it should be done!” That’s a problem, yall.

And I don’t say any of this like it should be easy. It isn’t easy today, the same way it wasn’t easy when the Church was born and God was explaining to them that “Yes, Jewish people you are going to start eating with Gentiles. It’s going to be awesome. Trust me.”

Paul was the biggest racist of them all and was essentially of the same mindset as a white supremacist, and God was like, “Hey! I want to use you to unite the Church!”

And then after God got a hold of Paul’s heart he wrote this to the church at Ephesus:

11-13 But don’t take any of this for granted. It was only yesterday that you outsiders to God’s ways had no idea of any of this, didn’t know the first thing about the way God works, hadn’t the faintest idea of Christ. You knew nothing of that rich history of God’s covenants and promises in Israel, hadn’t a clue about what God was doing in the world at large. Now because of Christ—dying that death, shedding that blood—you who were once out of it altogether are in on everything.

14-15 The Messiah has made things up between us so that we’re now together on this, both non-Jewish outsiders and Jewish insiders. He tore down the wall we used to keep each other at a distance. He repealed the law code that had become so clogged with fine print and footnotes that it hindered more than it helped. Then he started over. Instead of continuing with two groups of people separated by centuries of animosity and suspicion, he created a new kind of human being, a fresh start for everybody.

16-18 Christ brought us together through his death on the cross. The Cross got us to embrace, and that was the end of the hostility. Christ came and preached peace to you outsiders and peace to us insiders. He treated us as equals, and so made us equals. Through him we both share the same Spirit and have equal access to the Father.

THE CROSS GOT US TO EMBRACE AND THAT WAS THE END OF THE HOSTILITY.


Church, listen. Satan wins every single time we choose our fleshly desire to become defensive or violent over having compassion for the very real pain of our brothers and sisters IN CHRIST. I don’t know about you, but I’m so tired of letting him win. Of letting him destroy the community and peace of His Church. Of being ok or indifferent or apathetic to the dire lack of unity in our churches. I’m tired of letting Satan tell me it’s ok to believe what I believe about my fellow earthlings instead of demanding that THE CREATOR OF EVERY SINGLE HUMAN renew my mind to make it look more like His and less like mine.

This is the spiritual warfare, Church. We don’t use weapons in spiritual warfare. We use love. So if you want to get in the fight why don’t we start with holding up all of our thoughts and opinions about race relations up to His word:

Love is patient. Am I patient when I hear a different perspective? Or am I unwilling to listen?

Love is kind. Are my actions drenched in kindness? Or have I chosen to be harsh?

Love does not envy, does not boast, is not proud. Do I just want to be right?

Love does not dishonor others. Are my words bringing honor to my family-in-Christ’s pain?

Love is not self-seeking. Am I fighting for what is right and fair for EVERYONE?

Love is not easily angered. Yeah… about that.

Love doesn’t keep a record of wrongs. Am I holding the past against you?

Love rejoices in the truth. Does being right bring me joy? 

Love protects. Am I standing up with the hurting?

Love trusts. Am I giving you the benefit of the doubt?

Love hopes. Do I have faith any of this can change?

Love perseveres. Am I willing to continue this journey to racial reconciliation with the Church even when it feels damn near impossible? 

Love never fails.

Church, let’s not let hate infect our hearts, ok?

To Fifty More

When you’re young and you hear a couple has been married for 50 years you think, “OMG! That is so adorable! Fifty years of hanging out with your best friend? Marriage and love are so cool!”

When you’re a little bit wiser older you and you hear a couple has been married for 50 years you think, “Wow. They didn’t kill each other. Bravo to everyone involved!”

My in-loves are celebrating 50 years of wedded bliss today. Bravo!

Aren’t they adorable?

These two are a lot like Mark and I. Very different.

One is the head, the other is the heart.

One says “Sure!”, the other says “Let’s think about it a little more.”

One says “Toss it, it’s junk,” the other says “But we might need it…”

Fifty years of this, y’all. Fifty. Years.

The remarkable thing isn’t that they had the differences, but that they didn’t let the differences tear them apart. That they didn’t give up.

And I’m so thankful that they didn’t give up.

Because not giving up taught my husband what real love looks like, day in and day out. They taught him commitment and loyalty. They taught him not to talk when you’re mad. They taught him how to serve someone even when you maybe don’t always like someone. They gave him an understanding of love and marriage that a romantic comedy could never touch (well, Up probably got close).

If they were writing this blog they would probably mention that they got here because of Him. They would tell you all the stories about how they almost screwed it all up, but God. They wouldn’t call theirs the greatest love story, they’d call it their greatest testimony.

A testimony to a God that redeems.

A testimony to a God that forgives.

A testimony to a God that provides.

A testimony to a God that showers blessings.

A testimony to a God that is good, even if nothing looks the way you thought it would 50 years ago.

The Lord is good. His love endures forever, His faithfulness continues through all generations.Psalm 100:5:

This family you two have built is beautiful. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us and taught us!

Love you both!

On Emailing Strangers and Catching Fireflies

A couple of years ago I was watching PBS do an interview with a science dude that was explaining the Polar Vortex. I liked his explanation. I liked that he seemed passionate about weather science stuff. I felt like he needed to know that his contribution to the world was appreciated.

So I googled until I found his email address, and let him know:

polar vortex

 

There’s a kid in grad school that has been predicting the primary election results using data from Facebook. It’s fascinating. He’s very good. He’s doing it for ‘fun’ and because that’s what he wants to do in the world so why not? He put out a tip jar and I threw a couple of dollars his way because good work deserves a little something, something.

pedigo

 

***

I don’t know that there is anything I’m more protective of than what I call the Holy Spirit tingle. You can feel it in your bones when you’re in the zone, when you’re doing what you’re uniquely gifted to do.

I think we live in a very distracting world. We chase down material things or status or security, and the Holy Spirit tingle is lucky to be an afterthought. The Holy Spirit tingle is quiet and gentle. It doesn’t demand attention. I imagine finding it is a lot like catching fireflies. Once you see it light up, when you see the general area she’s in, you have to change your focus so you can still see her when her light fades away.

It’s so easy to get discouraged when you are chasing down fireflies or Holy Spirit tingles. It’s so easy to give up. That’s why I look for random scientist’s email addresses and donate money to kids that are doing insane amounts of work “just because.” That’s why I fight for Mark’s songwriting, write books in the hours before work, and am trying really, really hard to get a school started where kids get to chase down every firefly they are blessed to get a glimpse of. In a very loud world full of “Be practical!” “Don’t dream!” “Grow up!”, I’m desperate to add my voice to the voice whispering, “Keep going” “Add your magic to this world” “Have faith.”

A Tuna Butt Walks into a Bar

Otis: Mom, let me see your tuna butt.

Me: My tuna butt?

Otis: (turning me around so he can see my butt) Yes, the tuna butt!

Mark: What is he talking about?

I have no clue. And I know I need to figure it out quickly because if you don’t know what Otis is talking about things get crazy fast.

So I fake it.

Me: The TUNA BUTT!!! OF COURSE!!! (shrug my shoulders at Mark and hope he knows to play along)

Otis: YES! THE TUNA BUTT!!!!

Me: 

Otis: 

Mark: 

I changed the conversation quickly because if it became obvious that I had no clue what a tuna butt was then I’d be in big trouble with the Littlest Boss.

We went on the rest of the night uneventfully. Until bedtime.

Otis: Mom. Where’s the tuna butt?

Oh dear. I really wanted to sleep.

Me: 

Otis: (speaking slower) Where is the turd in your butt?

Me: Wait. What? The turd? In my butt?

Otis: Yes! The turd in your butt!

Me: (yelling downstairs to Mark) Tuna butt is TURD IN YOUR BUTT!!!!!!!! I FIGURED IT OUT!!!!!!!!!! I’M THE BEST MOM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!!!!!!!

Mark: You two are so weird.

Once I got over the ecstasy of knowing what my kid is talking about, I had lots of questions.

  • Where did he learn about turds?
  • Why is he looking for them?
  • Is this a high level fart joke?
  • Is my kid a comedic genius?
  • He’s my kid. OF COURSE HE’S A COMEDIC GENIUS.

And with that, I’ll end this post with…

TUNA BUTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Toast I Would Have Given

These girls have been friends since Apollo Middle School.

Junior high.

Who does that? Who keeps in touch with and likes hanging out with people who know what you looked like in that awkward stage where your hair was so big because you didn’t understand mousse and you wore the same wide-legged jeans every single day because they were the only pants that you knew wouldn’t be mistaken for ::gasp:: highwaters #horror

We do, but only because of Shelly “The Glue” Nickerson.

That’s right. Shelly P just became Shelly N (this nickname will probably not stick #allgoodthingscometoanend).

My best and longtime friend got married this weekend. We didn’t do toasts because I’m pretty sure that Shelly and Matt were done being in the spotlight as soon as the ceremony was over, and I’m never going to volunteer to public speak, but public write? I will public write all over the place. So here’s what I would have said…

“May I have everyone’s attention? I’d like to toast the happy couple!

Shelly, there really aren’t enough words to tell you how much I, and probably every person in this room, love you.

This week I was in charge of “planning” the bachelorette party. Y’all know this because I didn’t shut up about how hard it was, and how drained I was, and how OMG I’M NEVER PLANNING ANYTHING EVER AGAIN!

And I thought about how Shelly has been thinking about me, and probably every person in this room, for years. FOR DECADES! She’s been thinking about what we like to do and what we like to eat. When it’s been too long since the last get together. She’s been thinking about what the easiest route is for everyone. She’s been thinking about us and showing up for us and helping us calm down when we want to be dramatic for many, many years.

She’s been an anchor during crazy times. She’s been a compass when things feel crazy. She’s been the first text when we want to share the good news. She’s been the opinion that made the most sense. She’s been the encourager when you’re pretty sure you suck at life.

And I don’t know a lot of things, but I do know this. I have not said thank you enough. There’s no way I could. You’ve done too much for too long and too consistently. You win at friendship.

And friendship? That’s the key to this marriage thing. Showing up when it’s hard. Being kind when you want to be mean. Making sure it hasn’t been too long since the last Hint, Hint, errr, I mean, get together.

Matt, I know you know you’ve found a winner. And as your pretend marriage coach, here’s what I’m going to need you to do:

Tell her thank you. Every morning. Every night. At the end of every text message. Before every “I love you.”

Tell her thank you because she’s your glue. She’s holding things together that you didn’t even know were falling apart. And she does it all with grace and kindness and beauty.

Shelly, thank you for being my best friend since before text messaging.  Matt, thank you for making Shelly so happy, and congratulations on finding the very best wife on earth. I love you both! Congratulations!”

So Much Truth You’ll Slap Yo’ Mama

He is 4 and still in diapers with no interest in the potty at all.

WILL HE BE IN DIAPERS FOREVER?!?!

Ok, he goes to the potty now, but only when he has no pants on. The minute his bum is covered all potty training is out the window.

WILL HE EVER WEAR PANTS WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT?@!?@?

Fine, he’s going to the bathroom without incident, but he insists I go with him. He drags me to the bathroom every. single. time.

WILL HE EVER GO TO THE BATHROOM WITHOUT AN AUDIENCE?@?@###$

 

I have finally started slapping myself whenever I go into the tail spin of despair and anxiety about how fast or soon or well things are supposed to be going. I don’t remember the last time we used a diaper. I don’t remember the last time he sat around wearing no pants because I didn’t want to clean the couch cushions again. And one day I’m going to not remember the last time he grabbed my hand and demanded asked me to go with him to the potty. And I might cry. Because I’m me. That’s how I do.

He’s a late bloomer, and my only job is to stop trying to pry his petals open. He’ll bloom when he’s ready. We all do.

On Voting and Schooling and Living

I’ve never paid more attention to a primary than I have this one, and it’s not just because of Bernie. It’s actually more because of Sudbury.

There’s an argument that having closed primaries is “undemocratic.” But it isn’t. A primary is for a party and a party is, at the end of the day, a club. They aren’t required to be democratic for anyone other than their members. And being a United States citizen may make your voice count in a general election, but it doesn’t mean your voice matters to a political party.

Most of us don’t understand this because all we really know is “America is the best country in the world! Democracy is the awesome! Thank you to the men and women that fought for my right to vote!”

Then I wonder, “Where was everyone supposed to learn about how our government runs? Who was responsible for teaching us what it takes to get registered? Where were we supposed to learn that our voice matters? Where were we supposed to learn how to actually advocate legislatively for our families and communities?”

And the answer is supposed to be school, right?

The school that handed out the coveted Citizenship Award to the best (read: most obedient) child in the class.
A good citizen is an obedient one.

The school that has classes called “Government” but the only thing I remember doing was “learning” all the states and their capitals.
Fill your head with trivia. Don’t worry about thinking.

The school that made announcements every day of the spring semester to make sure every 18 year old male was registered for the draft, but never seemed to muster the same amount of passion to make sure the same 18 year olds were registered to vote.
Fight our wars, but don’t vote on them.

I’m just not buying that the education system as a whole (not teachers in specific) is that interested in actually producing citizens that are engaged with life. Which is where my excitement about Sudbury comes in.

I know I have a reputation for being all about everyone following their dreams. And that is me. I want everyone to be the you-iest you you can be. So I’m sure everyone thinks my love of Sudbury is about my kid having the freedom to follow his passion for YouTube lawnmower videos. And that is part of it.

But the other part, the biggest part, is that I want him to wrestle with life and his community as early as possible. And I don’t think there’s a better place to learn to wrestle than in a democratic free school.

Example:
Let’s pretend Otis wants to start a blueberry farm at the school because he loves blueberries. He doesn’t get to just walk outside and start digging because the school isn’t just his, it’s the school’s. So he’d have to come up with a plan for his blueberry farm, and probably start talking to others at the school about his idea to get them on board or at least supportive of a Blueberry Farm. He’ll have to figure out how to get the Blueberry Farm item on the school meeting’s agenda. He’ll have to think about possible arguments against the Blueberry Farm and how his plan will address them. He’ll have to present his plan to his peers. He’ll have to deal with the real pain of rejection if they vote no or the elation of success if they vote yes. He’ll probably learn that either way, yes or no, life goes on and there’s always a new thing to worry about tomorrow. And his peers are going to learn how to listen to big ideas about Blueberry Farms and ask questions to figure out if Otis’s Blueberry Farm is a good idea for not just Otis, but the whole school.

My hope is that when you’ve spent 12 years advocating for yourself and your community, you aren’t going to walk into the ‘real world’ and just stop. You have developed a worldview that says, “I have the right to ask questions, make my concerns heard, and be active in this ongoing conversation called Life because that’s all I’ve ever really known.”

Meet Kate

There is no area of my life where I feel more blessed than in friendships. God has introduced some of the most magical women into my life, and Kate Mason is possibly one of the most magical of all.
Kate Mason
She is fierce and positive and charming and she glows. Literally. Because her skin? It’s amaze. But that’s not really the point.

Then she got pregnant. And I held my breath because motherhood and all the emotional junk that comes with it can make even Beyonce wonder if she’s got this (and we all know that Beyonce always gots this).

So once she came out of the twilight zone of newborndom, we went to coffee with baby in tow. We talked about all the changes the baby brings and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful motherhood looked on Kate. And not because she’s a Pinterest-perfect mombie, but because she was confident and listening to herself and respecting herself all while being a nurturing and attentive mom. It’s not an easy balancing act, trust.
I have a theory about why Kate is so good at listening to herself on this beautiful journey. She doesn’t have Facebook. Or Instagram. When she wants the grandparents to see a pic of the baby she sends a text. Novel, right?

So she doesn’t have all of this noise in her head. She can hear herself. And if I could point to one thing that is magical about Kate is that her lack of noise is contagious. When you sit with her she is there and listening completely which helps you be there and completely listen. I know because I’ve sat with her numerous times as I sorted out what my next steps were as far as my career, and her ability to help you see the real questions is, for lack of a better word, magic.

I have gushed enough. With a lot of begging from me, Kate is offering up a new coaching program specifically designed for new moms, and I can’t tell you how excited I am about this yes, I totally can. Instead I’m going to let Kate introduce herself!
After the birth of my first daughter, I experienced what could only be called an identity crisis. I realized that with the addition of this new, strange creature that literally made my heart hurt from love, I had to reevaluate almost every aspect of my life. My relationships had changed, my body had changed, my confidence wavered and my creativity stunted as all my energy was spent keeping this living, breathing baby alive.
As a control addict, I craved a structured program that could walk me through the steps to get me to the new, awesome self I knew existed. As a certified life coach, I developed that program. Motherloaded: A 12-Week Coaching Program for New Moms Experiencing the Inevitable Identity Crisis was created to help moms discover their new selves, as a mother, a partner and a woman. Over the 12-week course, everything from inner confidence to personal style to relationships with friends and family will be discussed. Issues like sex after baby, communicating with extended family, meeting new mom friends, and more will be evaluated and goals will be set.
I am currently taking new clients and would love to hear from you! Please feel free to email me for more information, pricing, etc. Also, if you are so inclined, don’t hesitate to pass this along to anyone who might be interested. I look forward to hearing from you soon!
Kate Mason

Thursdays It Is

Mark and I were having a conversation about Hint, Hint the other day. Because after we became parents we conversate about Hint, Hint rather than, well, Hint, Hinting.

We’re veering dangerously close to becoming that couple that Hint, Hints based on the calendar. Now, listen, I don’t judge those couples at all, but you know how you have those ‘things’ you think you’ll never do or be? I never thought we’d be them, so I offered up a suggestion…

Me: Why don’t you just wake me up when you want to Hint, Hint? (Because part of our issue is that while getting Otis down for bed I always, always, ALWAYS fall asleep)

Mark:

Me: What? It’s a perfect solution!!!

Mark: Do you know what you’re like when you’re woken up in the middle of the night?

Me: Um? Awesome?

Mark: You’re this weird, angry, delirious drunk.

Me: Take that back. I’m adorable. All day. Erry day.

Mark: Like the other day. You just start asking really demanding questions. “Does my mom need to pick him up? DOES MY MOM NEED TO PICK HIM UP?” And I’m, like, scared. How do I answer her? Does she want an answer? What am I supposed to do?!?

Me: Overruled!

Mark: And that’s not even the weird stuff you say. (Starts impression of just woken up Marie) “The slippery sidewalk! Turn left forty seven eight. The sidewalk! THE SIDEWALK!!! WHERE IS THE BEAR?!???!”

Me: 

Mark: So, no I will not be waking you up to ask if you want to Hint, Hint.

Me: *Gets out calendar* What do Thursdays look like for you?

This also made me think about this post #ICrackMyselfUp

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 29 other followers