"Middle age...

Is when your age starts to show around your middle." -Bob Hope

I've never been much of a fighter or arguer. I mean, I remember fighting with Ben, but that mostly included hitting him until Mom caught us. (I found out recently that Mom and Dad used to wish, and possibly encourage, Ben to hit me back, the theory being that if he hit me back, it would hurt, and I'd never hit him again. I don't remember if I outgrew it or if he hit me, all I know is we stopped.)

In high school and at YWAM, I didn't argue much... I have an opinion and it is generally fully formed in my brain (though not always... Which is a problem, because if I have to think about it, then that means that people have already moved on to another point before I have my ideas formed and out), but I don't like it at all. I don't like telling someone they're wrong, especially if they're my friend. And I don't like when they tell me I'm wrong.

And, I hate when people talk over me. Sometimes, people are so excited about their opinion that they just talk over everyone else in an effort to get theirs out.

Apparently, I live with some arguers. We got into a discussion tonight about when people are most attractive.

The point of this is not the argument. I was greatly amused by watching them all argue with each other, and actually enjoyed when I was able to state my opinion. (It only lasted about 30 seconds. But it was more than normal.)

I guess I've come to the conclusion that God gave us creative minds and thus the ability to debate and discuss. I have formed views on abortion, adoption, homosexuality, sex outside of marriage, and interacting with other religions; but to discuss said views with someone else brings in their own spin on it, which may or may not alter my views.

I think to become a good fighter is not to be able to argue your point to death, but to be able to argue your point in a way that gets it across to other people, without anyone being offended or feeling like their views aren't being heard.

Winning someone over to your side definitely helps, though.

"Wouldn't it be simpler to use just one word?

It would certainly make more sense." "Nonsense." "Ridiculous." "Fantastic." "Absurd." "Bosh." They chorused, then continued. "We're not interested in making sense. Its not our job. Besides, one word is as good as another- so why not use them all?" -Norton Juster in The Phantom Tollbooth, pg. 40

This morning while at work, I was making that face where you seal your lips. You know, it puffs out your cheeks and your lips and it looks really funny? I then realized that if I filled my mouth with marbles, it would make my face do that... And make my mouth feel weird. I started thinking about what it would feel like to have little balls of cold glass (because marbles are always cold) shoved in between my gums and lips...

Then I moved on to what it would be like to have your lips sewn shut and to never be able to breathe out of them. Like, you would try, but your lips would just puff up and the air would get trapped. You'd never be able to blow out birthday candles, or sigh, or inhale sharply.

I didn't say anything to my co-workers, because I thought maybe these were not normal thoughts and I need to have my job, but when I got home I google image searched "mouth full of marbles". Apparently I'm not the only one who wonders about such things.

Also, I asked hannaHRose, and she said she wondered the same thing.

Not only was I suffering from childish instincts of wanting to put everything in my mouth today, I also rediscovered Schoolhouse Rock. My family had all the VHS movies- English, Math, Science, etc. I still remember most of the songs, and have been listening to them obsessively on youtube.

Schoolhouse Rock taught me several valuable lessons. Interplanet Janet taught me the order of the planets as they rotate around the sun; Where the Money Goes taught me why paying bills is important ("If I don't pay the mortgage/They'd take the house/And then where would we get our mail?); Three is a Magic Number taught me that having babies is magic (ok, not really the lesson the song intended, but that's what I got out of it); and Interjections! taught me about the correct use of exclamation points.

There are a lot of things in my childhood that got passed off as entertainment that are lessons I still remember; Schoolhouse Rock, of course, but Monopoly, Scrabble, and Boggle all taught me math and vocabulary skills, as well as bartering and how to argue my point. (And, often, how to lose.)

We had a video game that was supposed to teach me how to get along with my brother... However, all I learned from that one was how to hurt him without my Mom being able to tell.

I think that some of those things must've driven my parents nuts, but they were able to see the long-term value...

I hereby vow to not disallow my kids from watching or participating in something simply because I don't like it.

Also, I may use them as an excuse to watch Schoolhouse Rock and Lizzie McGuire again.

All women become like their mothers.

That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his. -Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Ernest

I've been watching Lizzie McGuire recently. Growing up we didn't have cable, and I don't think I was allowed to watch that show anyway... But every other girl around my age learned some all-important life lessons from Lizzie and her animated other self back in the early 2000's. In every episode, in less than 20 minutes, Lizzie learns how valuable her friendships are, that her parents truly love her, but sometimes screw up anyway, that she is an asset to the rest of the world- even if her world only exists within her school and family.

As I've watched Lizzie interact with her mom (who is kind of a nut-job), and the similarities between them, I've also been noticing the differences. And I realized something.

Yes, Lizzie is like her mom. But she is not her mom.

I'll say it again.

The lesson that I've learned from Lizzie McGuire is that I am not my mother.

Don't get me wrong- I love my mom. She's awesome and has done the best she could with me and my little brother. She's an awesome cook, her baked goods could kill, she isn't afraid of what people think and speaks her mind.

And I have grown up my entire life thinking I have to be all of that, just like her.

And being sorely disappointed.

I can cook and bake, but more often than not, it comes out as a disaster that I don't want to let anyone touch. I am so scared of what people think of me and if they're judging me that I struggle to not spend all of my time trying to not act like someone else, but just accept myself. I don't speak my mind, but rather tend to stay quiet and pretend that I agree with everything that is going on.

I realized... I am not my mother, and I'm not supposed to be. My family, my friends, my future husband- none of them look down on me for it, nor are they constantly comparing me to her.

She is her, I am me, and life goes on.

First family picture.

At the 40th birthday party I planned for her

Saying good-bye right after helping me move into the House O' Bricks