Old People Birthdays

Yep, “old people birthdays” is how most people find my site via Google.

Don’t ask me how–I don’t talk about old people very much these days.

Another one is “wedding bells.” Most of these people probably think my blog is all about wedding planning, when usually I just complain about the volume of my friends who are getting engaged. On that note, I included a picture of wedding bells on this post, so that must be the trigger.

(And, don’t get me started on the engagement epidemic.)

I guess I should apologize for that one.

As for old people birthdays? I kind of want to know–if you are someone who found my blog by searching for that, why¬†are you searching for those words in that particular older? Birthday party ideas? Looking for the oldest person in the world? Wondering where the general population is headed, age-wise?

Oh, and if that’s why you’re stopping by, hello, and sorry I can’t help, but enjoy my blog anyway. ūüôā That includes, you, too, wedding-bells-lookers.

(And, please, don’t use my Wikipedia link as a source. It doesn’t count. Unless you really ¬†do your research and verify Wiki’s¬†sources as well).

It’s a Puzzle

I work with one particular boy who consistently gets in his way.

Don’t get me wrong, a lot of the kids I work with do this, and a lot of people in general do this.

(Myself, for one, but let’s not go down that road).

Not long ago, this kid, we’ll call him M, finally seemed to find an activity that kept him out of trouble and quiet. This kid, from the first day I started, was a headache. That sounds mean, but seriously, I could not reach this child. I could see¬†his pain and feel ¬†his anger, but I could not find anything beneath those masks with which I could connect.

Then, we went shopping and bought some new puzzles, and my boss convinced M to get started on a bada** one with a bunch of dragons with a tantalizing offer:  finishing the puzzle would equal keeping the puzzle.

What a boon.

M worked diligently on his puzzle for days. When he finally reached the last few pieces and found one missing, we were all close to devastated.

When another sharp-eyed student spotted the missing piece, my boss went right over to tell M the good news. He came back and happily added the last piece.

And the next day?

M destroyed the whole thing.

It breaks my heart to see a glimmer of something in a child, and then before you know it, the window is slammed shut.

I’ve never seen a glimmer in M again, and we rarely ever see him anymore.

All I can do is hope–someday–he’ll remember that someone believed in him in enough to encourage him to something as simple as a puzzle, and that someone is there if he needs help achieving more.

Sometimes, we see a glimmer in someone and we never see it again. I guess that’s how life is–we’re all just a bunch of ships passing in the night, and sometimes a lantern turns on. Sometimes it stays on, sometimes it burns out, sometimes it blinds you, sometimes it warms you.

courtesy of wikipedia.com

And every light is beautiful. Perhaps the ones that are just a flash are the ones we’ll remember most–but boy, it’s hard to remember and never get to see more.

This Is How It Works

“This is how it works:
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath…” ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†~Regina Spektor

My thought for the day.

It was quite a day, and it’s been quite a week, and I’m too tired to think about anything else but the fact that life isn’t fair, it’s not always pretty, the older you get the more you worry.

The more people you care about the more you worry, and the more people you know, the more people will have things to say that they think could make your life better.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do to make it through is remember that life is pretty basic. ¬†All you can do is keep trying until you just can’t anymore.

Then, maybe take a nap.

And get up and try some more.

I Look Like Lady Gaga

Today, I wore this to work:

cute boots, right? and I'm not sure the picture does justice to my MUSTARD tights.

It is by far not the craziest thing I’ve ever worn. (My affinity for orange should be a clue there. And my favorite shirt used to say “Donde estas mi pantalones?” And no, I did not fully understand what that meant at the time).

My outfit consisted of a blue dress, black cardigan, the boooots (I have a serious boot addiction) and, of course, the mustard yellow tights.

I love my mustard tights. They’re fun and bright and remind me of fall and brighten up any dull outfit. Since I have to actually dress like a professional¬†now, most of my clothes haven’t been very colorful. So I needed¬†these tights.

(Backstory: I bought them on sale at a Macy’s on Black Friday in Seattle. With my grandma. She seemed fairly shocked by my color choice, and her favorite color is red. Maybe she was just shocked that I wear them with skirts that are above my knees. But still. Some of my cousins show more cleavage than I do and they’re like, 15. Plus my sister insists on wearing everything XXS even though she should totally switch to medium by now. Not that you shouldn’t flaunt it if you’ve got it, sister. And cousins.)


The response to my outfit was unexpected. It was quite a sensation.

“I love your outfit! Those earrings! Your hair!” *Said by one of my co-workers at our monthly breakfast meeting at Snoooooze!

“Amy! Look at your boots!” *Another co-worker.

You’re getting the picture: for the first half of the day, I was a hit. Once the kids started arriving, however…

“Miss Amy, did you tan your legs?” *Several kids said this in jest. One kid said it earnestly. But really, who has ever had legs that¬†color? Not even my lifeguard co-worker in high school had legs that color, and she had a natural tan plus¬†a fake tan.

“What are you wearing, Miss Amy? You look like a witch.” *Said by two¬†kids on separate occasions, so this was not a copycat case.

“You look like Alice in Wonderland!”

“No, she looks like Lady Gaga! (GaGa?)” *Two kids arguing over who I looked like.

“I’ve got it! You look like an Oompa Loompa!” *My always sweet and complimentary boyfriend. Most of the kids are too young to understand the joys of Willy Wonka as portrayed by Gene Wilder and his creepy Oompas or else I’m sure I would have heard this before. At least his reference dates him.

So there you have it folks. I’m a weird congolmeration of two beloved fiction characters, one of our most insane (and well-known) current pop stars, and an evil lady who lures children into her cabin in the woods.

Although maybe I could be a nice witch.

But they probably don’t wear mustard tights.