late bloomer

Stories, musings, and pictures… a little bit late.


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Socks

When I was a little girl (young enough that my mom dressed me, but old enough that I probably could have helped) I had anxiety over socks. If the seam that went across my toe knuckles didn’t lay just right I ended up in a tizzy before mom could even pull her hand away. Today I just wear my socks with particularly irritating seams inside out.

Oddly enough, this:

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does not bother me. Not one bit. Sure those socks don’t match, but my discerning feet can’t tell the difference and my eyes don’t care. However, I would never make a matching pair out of these socks while doing laundry. I’ll give you a couple of reasons why.

1. Clearly, they don’t match and therefore don’t belong confined by wimpy sock elastic in my sock drawer.

2. I don’t take the time to match pairs of socks when I am folding laundry. The gratification of making an acceptable pair at the time of getting dressed must thrill me more than the efficiency of putting them away in an organized fashion.  Besides, no where on my dresser does it say “Sock Drawer: Couples Only”.

There actually is a little bit of method to this madness. For instance, I couldn’t wear socks of differing lengths or elasticity. That would just be crazy.


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I have whiskers.

For a person that seems (at least to myself) to be a late bloomer, my body sure was in a big hurry to sprout whiskers. Unlike animal whiskers mine do not assist me in my day to day activities. If anything, coming across a wirey hair on my face or neck halts all productivity.

Whenever I am able to properly remove the culprit, I make a careful check to see if there are any others that my fingers haven’t absently discovered while deep in thought about something cosmetically unrelated.

I don’t know what whiskers are made of. It can’t just be hair. They must have a similar growth component as kudzu or bamboo because it never fails that a day after I give my reflection the “all clear” and set my tweezers down – Boioioioing!


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I’m Listening

Whenever I am in proximity to a bathroom and hear a toilet flush, I listen to hear the sink water and other noises associated with hand washing. 

I don’t know when this started or why. I imagine it might have started around the time my sister’s kids were starting to use the facilities on their own. That would make sense so we’ll go with that.The cubicle I have been temporarily assigned to at work is close enough to a men’s bathroom to take note of who is a hand washer and who isn’t. I can say the gentlemen in that area of the company have better hygiene than other departments I’ve had the pleasure of working in.

For those of you who visit my house take notice: the house ain’t that big. And I will judge you. I tend to be open-minded about a lot of issues. Hand washing is not one of them. I have actually thought of ways to intervene – “Oh, am I out of soap?” or “Here, let me get a fresh hand towel for you.”  At least, those are the polite ways.

I’ve heard conversations between parents and their children:
Parent – “Did you wash your hands?”
Kid – “Yeah”
Parent – “With soap?”

Hold on! “With soap?” What else to you WASH with? I believe the term for only using water is called rinsing.

Yeah, it is weird that my ears perk at the sound of a flushing toilet. I’d rather be weird than gross.


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Christmas in July

Back in February Aaron and I hosted a family dinner at our house. In preparation for company I did a little house keeping. Some of the things to take care of were the Christmas decorations that had not been put away yet. They weren’t still on display, but they weren’t back in Shed #2 with the tree  and the ornaments either.

In an effort to disguise my poor house keeping skills I cleverly relegated the decor to the trunk of my car. 2 birds, one lazy stone. The house appeared neater and I didn’t have to carry that stuff all the way up to the shed.

Fast forward 5 months. I was (finally) cleaning out my car yesterday (because my dad, sister and I are taking it on a road trip in a few days) and I came across these:

Melted wax snowman candles. Well, candle. They used to be two, but are now pretty much inseparable.

Want to know what else I found? First tell me what’s lurking in your car.