change

You know how I've been talking about going back to school? I've been talking about it for a while, right? And you know how it's been bugging you because I'm all talk and no action, and you'd really like to smack me and tell me to GET MY ACT TOGETHER AND DO SOMETHING, but you're too nice?

Well, I did something.

I gave my notice at work.

Effective....sometime in July. Exact date to follow.

I was having a great talk with Miggs, and she's just so good at being inspiring that before I knew it I was jumping up and down on her couch like Tom Cruise. That's a slight dramatization, but I really was jumping up and down on a couch in my head, I swear.

So, I got to thinking about how if something is good, we should do it. Right away. This helps to avoid people wanting to smack us, and also it's a good way to show Heavenly Father we really do want His help, by being obedient. Even if what He wants us to do is hard, and we would rather hide under the table and suck our thumbs.

Then, at work on Monday, without even really trying, it just popped out.

I'm going back to school, I said. I'm really going to miss you guys. I'm feeling kind of scared, but a good kind of scared. The kind of scared you feel before you try a new roller coaster.

Just like that, I told the best boss in the world that I was leaving.

I'm going to go hide under the table and suck my thumb now.

Thanks, by the way, for not smacking me. Your kindness knows no bounds.

brand new me

Guess what?

I'm assertive now.

Uh huh. Didn't think I had it in me, did you?

Well, I did.

There comes a time in every passive girl's life when she must decide: is she a mouse, or is she....not a mouse. Because mice are generally not all that assertive, I take it. Also, they can't even talk, so if the mouse wanted to be assertive I think it would have a rather difficult time.

Well, I am NOT a mouse.

I was on my way home from work, minding my passive business, all ready to swipe my metrocard when my spidey-sense told me there was a tourist kid in front of me who needed help with his metrocard.

Swipe, THWACK. Swipe, THWACK. Swipe, THWACK.

It's always a little embarrassing when you get stopped by the turnstiles. Now, being the passive person I am, normally I would have been quite content to stand behind him as he swiped incorrectly for a good long time, cheering him on, or I would have maybe hopped lines, but yesterday was different.

"You have to watch the little screen. It will tell you if it worked."

Didn't register. Swipe, THWACK.

I grabbed the metrocard, swiped it, returned it to the hand of my greasy-haired buddy.

"Uh, thanks."

I swiped my card, walked through, and then I chuckled.

That was awesome. I'm so assertive now.

The Gender Olympics

Paul Boerem is not a girl.

Well, he isn't.

I think I got ahead of myself.

So there's this documentary called The Business of Being Born, about women, and they're having babies, and should they have them in the hospital, or at home? There was a free screening at the hospital, and I thought, I'd like to have a baby sometime, so I'm interested in this, plus it's free, and that's pretty great. Also I've been concerned lately that my hypothetical children are taking their sweet time because I don't yet have my parent license, and I am wondering if that's how you get it, by going to see documentaries like this.

I watch as women, well, um, give birth. On film. It looks painful. I totally want to do it. I marvel at just how crazy that is, that I can see something that really does not look like a walk in the park, and here I am ready to sign up like someone just said "Would you like some free cheesecake?" Heck yes, I do.

Well, the movie ends, and I go home, and I'm all intellectually charged with woman power and stuff, and naturally I want to talk to Paul, because I want to impress him with what a smart wife he has. Except, remember I'm not really good at debating, because I don't like it? Yeah, well, I forgot about that.

We start to chew the fat (I've been waiting to use that phrase....) and at first we are really having a very nice time, and I'm patting myself on the back in my head and thinking, look at us. Look how smart and open minded and enlightened we are. They should make a documentary about us, is what they should do.

Naturally I was surprised when we both got all mad and stuff. I mean, okay. Here's how it happened:

So we're talking about episiotomies, and I was like, so I don't think I want one, and then he was like.........hmmmm. Funny, I actually can't remember exactly what he said, because I was pretty busy planning my rebuttal. I like to stay ahead of the game.

At any rate, he says something that sparks a little of the feisty in me, and then, I tell him that he can't really understand because.....

He doesn't have any girl parts.

Yep.

I busted that one out. The gender card.

Here I would like to remind everyone of one minor detail:

Neither of us has ever given birth. We are in no way qualified to be having this conversation.

I would also like to point out that if these questions were actually applicable to us, we'd be so psyched, giving birth in Taco Bell would be fine, although I would prefer not to. No offense to anyone who has labored at the Bell.

Still, it is immediately apparent that each of us is representative of our respective genders, and as such we each bear the solemn responsibility of attempting to force the other to SEE THINGS MY WAY!!

Paul stands up, states that he will not dignify my comment with a response, and huffs out of the room.

I sit on the couch, pondering. Am I amused, or do I feel a huge sense of injustice? I go with amused, until it's time to go to bed, and it's my turn to say the prayer, and I extend my hand so we can hold hands during, except I decide, you know, I don't think I'm going to say the prayer just yet. I should apologize to Paul.

So, I apologize. Well, kind of. It was the sort of apology where you think, yeah, I'm apologizing, but really I'm using my apology as a jumping off point to continue the debate because ACTUALLY I'M RIGHT!!!

It didn't go over as well as I'd hoped it would.

I led off with saying that I was sorry but, well, he didn't have any, um, girl parts, and then I can't really remember exactly what we said, just that this time I got mad, got out of bed, stomped out of the room and shut the door.

Hmmmm.

I don't believe in sleeping on the couch.

Also, I can't sleep alone because I really like how Paul snuggles.

I am lying on the couch trying to come up with a way to go back in to bed without completely groveling or admitting defeat because I AM RIGHT, but really missing Paul, when the bedroom door opens.

I close my eyes to fake like I was asleep, but let's face it, I'm a really bad faker.

He sits down on the couch.

Looks at me. A little confused, a little like he wants to laugh.

Can you come back to bed, please?

I smile.

You missed me, didn't you!

He smiles. Puzzled.

Yeah......WHY, I don't know, but.....yeah!

I say the prayer.

This time, I say it for reals.