A box of hand-picked donuts for breakfast is our birthday tradition. The ribboned boxes of specialty cupcakes were compliments of our home teachers. (Do you see what I'm sayin' here 'bout these guys?!?)
BTW, it was Crazy Hair Day at the elementary.
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I’m reading “Crucial Conversations,” and learning all about my rookie mistakes. How—even when you’re convinced you’re right—to not force your opinion down people’s (Rob’s, McKenzie’s, Mia’s, Cattens…) throats. How to start with your facts, NOT your conclusions. How to talk tentatively—to state your story as a possibility, not a hard fact—as in, “I wonder if….” How to step back and ask yourself, “What do I really want?” and “How would I act right now if I really wanted these results?”
These are all skills I apparently lack. First of all, I’m always right. Like my dad would say, “Of course I think I’m right. I wouldn’t hold that opinion if it were wrong.” Secondly, I like to dazzle people with my “conclusions” without stating the evidence that led me there. I like to keep them wondering how on earth I could have known—that it must be my sheer genius and spiritual discernment. Third, I take no prisoners in battle. To step back would be to give the opponent the time to develop his case without cross-examination, gaining points he would never otherwise win, or worse, to let him think he’s stumped me.
You didn’t know I was such a head case, did you? The truth comes out….
Someone (who will remain nameless) flarped (or beeped, as Elle says), and Rob said,
“What’d you say?”
I laughed so hard I cried.
His name is Cody. I hear Elle say his name about 45 times a day. She made up a song about him, called the "Cody Song." It goes like this, "Co-dy song... Co-dy song...Co-dy song...." 
I sometimes visit Cjane’s blog. I just read her question, "What offends you?" and I'd like to consider it. I've been stewing about something I said that may have been offensive. My neighbor said (kindly): "I can't believe you've had six kids. You're so skinny." My response: "It's genetic. I mean, I work out for an hour three times a week, but so do lots of people that have different shapes than I do. It's funny—I'd probably look the same whether or not I worked out. I bet even if I worked out like crazy, I'd still look pretty much the same. My sister who has my same body type works out 6 days a week, and she looks just like I do" (at least in clothes. I haven't seen her *****. Don't plan to.)
That's what I said. I'm thinking it came across as bragadocious. Braglicious. Bragnificent. [Shuddering.] Like I think I've got one hot bod. One that couldn't get better if I tried.
So, what I meant to say was, I don't take much credit for a fast metabolism. And I don't think my own shape is the best kind of body type. I think most people who feel overweight would want to keep their own shape, just lose a few pounds. (More than one person has told me I look better pregnant, because my face doesn't look so skeletal.) (BTW, that doesn't offend me. It's my face. I accepted it a long time ago.)
I guess what offends me is when people take a piece of conversation or a snapshot of my life and make assumptions about who I am, what I think, or what I do.
Like the time I let Getty (at age 3) into our fenced backyard, which adjoins our neighbor's yard with a single gate. I notice he's enjoying a popsicle with our neighbor's daughters. I go back into the house. Suddenly a giant dog appears in the yard and decides to play tag with the kids. Getty takes off toward the nearest exit—our neighbor's open front-yard fence gate—and proceeds to run all the way down the sidewalk, turn the corner, and run screaming up our street. I hear crying and knocking at my front door, wonder why in the world Getty came all the way around to the front door, and lift him onto my 8-month pregnant belly to calm him down. Thirty seconds later, another knock at the door. It's a woman I've never seen before. She proceeds to tell me how angry she is with me. How I didn't know where my 3-year-old son was. How I was a neglectful mother.
My question is, How could she possibly know what kind of a mother I am? Catch any mother in the world at one point or another, and we look horrific. Catch us at other times, and we look heroic.
So, back to the alleged brag-o-rama [cringe]. I guess in that instance, if my neighbor IS offended (which I can't confirm), then I would be offended right back. Hmmmmm.
