I’m restless. Unsettled. For the first time since graduating college (several years ago), I feel like I need to go and do. Go where? Do what? Well, I’m not really sure about that part.
Last weekend we took the kids to watch The Muppet Movie.
Because I LOVE the Muppets. They’re magical, to me.
The Great Muppet Caper is the very first movie I remember watching. And I LOVED it. Beyond the verbal capability of my five-year old self. That same year, I got a Kermit the Frog doll for my birthday, and I was so happy about it, I cried.
As you can imagine, I was pretty excited about the new movie.
But I didn’t really expect my kids to like it.
Yesterday I found some old lip gloss tucked away in a travel bag and I got a little excited.
It was my old favorite, Cover Girl Hipster, sooo pretty.
I haven’t worn it in about three years. In fact, I haven’t worn any lip gloss or lipstick or lip stain or anything else on my lips.
You’re probably wondering why. (Or, you may not care, but I’ll tell you anyway.) Because lipstick doesn’t look good with braces, and it looks even sillier when you have braces and you’re missing two teeth.
“Mommy!! I caught one! I caught one!!!” Alyssa yelled to me from the yard. She was almost dancing.
“Caught what?” I asked. With her, it could be anything from a butterfly to a lizard.
Not at all what I had expected. “Oh. Good!” I said back to her.
She stopped dead and gave me the look. She always sees right through me.
Her hands went to her hips. “Its a red leaf. You know. A lucky red leaf.”
Note: Names have been changed to protect the middle-aged.
Ashley Scott was a high school phenom. She was young and beautiful.
Cheerleader. Beauty Queen. Perfect-in-every-way.
She had everything. Everything. And did I mention she was beautiful? She was also young, like me.
I should say that I never personally knew Miss Ashley, because she went to a different school. But we were from small towns, and in small towns, everyone knows everyone. Everybody especially knew Ashley. I did say she was beautiful, right?
I don’t think I’ve seen her since high school, though, and really, I haven’t thought about her either.
Until the other day.
I was scrolling down my Facebook page and saw that one of my FB friends was tagged in Ashley Scott’s photo. Gotta love FB’s seven degrees of separation. My curiosity took over, and I had to click on it. I just wondered what she looked like now.
Last week I learned something very important about myself: I will never be a judge. I mean the courtroom kind. No bench sitting or black robe for me.
Give me Dancing With the Stars and I could run with that. (First order of business–buh bye Nancy Grace).
I always expected that judges sat on the bench, listened carefully, weighed the facts, and then dolled out punishment. I thought they separated truth from fiction. Found the holes in testimony. And most of all, I thought judges didn’t tolerate bunk.
I think I’m pretty good at all those things.
But that’s not what happens, at least not in traffic court.
Last Thursday I had a terrible day.
It actually really began on Wednesday when my orthodontist said I was ready for my jaw-breaking surgery. (This was a good thing since it is the first required step to getting two missing teeth replaced). But then minutes later, an x-ray showed that I did NOT have enough room for an implant; the root was NOT diverging; and it was possible that I had an abscess. The short story there? I was NOT ready to have surgery.
If you’ve ever been toothless for three years, then you know what a blow that was.