it's the best medicine

We like to laugh in my family.

The usual stuff...the boys pulling their shorts up over their chest and walking past our windows, my husband doing the Curley Shuffle, or the time I sported the nerdy teeth and spoke with a Southern accent, it's all been done. (By the way, the neighbor kids have requested that one time and again.) I have funny kids, and I like that about them.

Of course, it's safe to say every mom thinks their offspring will one day end up on stage or in the movies, and I'm no different. And I would almost bet money on that prediction when it comes to my 6-year-old. He's more than funny in a silly way, he has impeccable timing with his one-liners and just when you think he's done, here he comes with another one. Which brings us to Saturday, when he began to change his clothes in front of me:

Me: Buddy, you need to change in your room...it's not appropriate for me to see your privates.

Him: Why NOT? You already know what they look like.

Me: Hayden!

Him: Not only that, but I've seen your boobs.

you never have to wonder

Anyone who knows my 6-year-old gets that he's honest. Some might call it frank.

No beating around the bush. If he thinks it, he says it. And these days, I find it refreshing. Except for that one time at the doctor's office when I wasn't sure how to respond to the woman he addressed while sitting in the waiting room. That was certainly a quick exit. Let's just say I won't be asking my little guy if I look fat in my jeans any time soon.

So last night, he quickly shared some unsolicited observations while watching American Idol:

Him: Mom, you know that girl judge in the middle?

Me: Yeah, Jennifer Lopez?

Him: Yeah, her. She wears too much lipstick. Waaaaay too much. I don't like it.

Me: Okay. I can see that.

Him: And you know the guy judge next to her with the long hair?

Me: Yes, Steven Tyler.

Him: That shirt he's wearing...

Me: Yes?

Him: ...makes him look like a girl.

new job jitters

I stopped to pick up a salad yesterday.

It was one of those places where you're shuffled through like 4th graders in a school cafeteria, except I was choosing sunflower seeds and edamame instead of chocolate pudding and tater tots. A place where you feel all kinds of pressure to figure out what you want in a microsecond as to not hold up the people behind you. No chance of being able to ask for a brief moment to scan the choices offered, or you risk being the cause of inevitable eye-rolling or exhales of annoyance.

So, I blurted out my choices and noticed I was STILL the cause of an abrupt line stoppage. I wasn't particulary choosy and couldn't figure out the problemo...until the guy behind the counter announced, 'Sorry for the delay...it's my first day on the job.'

Poor guy.

He was stressed and worried and in a nutshell, freaking out. He could see the line getting longer and was trying to follow a salad guide and searching for edamame while wondering what the heck edamame looks like in the first place and questioning if the salad comes with two scoops of chicken or one, and who orders asian soy dressing?

I felt for him because we've all had first day jitters.

I called myself Deborah 'Honeynut' during my first on-air break 17 years ago, and hoped no one would A) Notice B) Mention it or C) Notice, and all in that order. Yet, we get through the moments of panic and find ways to laugh at ourselves. Not sure salad-guy was laughing yesterday, as he frantically worked among buckets of croutons and candied pecans with secret hopes that his boss would run out of lettuce.

The guy eventually figured it out, (with no help from Pedro, his co-worker), and apologized for my nearly 10-minute wait. The entire scenario was so pitiful that I told him I didn't mind, and a half-hearted smile appeared on his face.

Here's wishing salad-guy well.

loving what you do

How many of us do what we love?

I do. An honest statement. I truly love radio, who I work with, being creative, and the satisfaction it brings each day. (Minus the hours.) And I love other things.

I love writing.

And somehow, five weeks of life have passed between this post and my last one, though I used to make time to write once a day. Maybe one day I will share why it seems I can't find the time to even power on my laptop. It's not because I lost my power cord, which eventually surfaced. I realized just how much I've missed putting my thoughts on 'paper' when I came across this poem last week. It read:

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, trying to be the best. You only have to let your being love what it loves.

And I love to write.

About observations. Life's quirks. And kids' innocent views of this complex world in which we live.

I love it when my son asks me if he's allergic to his bed because he only coughs at night, or how when my youngest exits the bathroom, he'll announce, 'I wouldn't go in there for five days.'

Or how dressing in the dark can result in wearing two different-colored socks to work, which happened to me this morning, but so far no one's noticed.

We all should carve out time to do what we love, whether it is ordering dessert or dancing when no one's watching. Or even when they are.

Do what you love.