I am writing because I am obedient...

...despite what my fella (or my mother) might say.

I have a friend named Ruggedly Handsome Valley Guy. We'll just call him "Jason" for short. Well, "Jason" sent me a facebook message and suggested that my public might be waiting for me to blow the dust off of my keyboard and get back to blogging. Being a good girl who always does what she is asked, I wasted no time logging in.

Looking back at my last post it has indeed been a while. I'd like to say that so much has happened since April 28th that I've just been too busy with exciting activities and jet-setting all over the world to write, but that would be lying and Grandma used to get the flyswatter out for such things. Just to be clear, she never actually hit anyone with it (well maybe my cousin Steven but he was bad so I'm sure he deserved it) but the mere threat of that little piece of beige rubber snapping against one's skin is enough to bleed the truth out of any good little Catholic girl. Or perhaps it was the threat of having to go to confession and say the rosary a thousand times before Mass starts. "And we'll go when the mean Father is there!" *shivers* Either way, it doesn't matter how much time has passed or how aligned one's religious views still are, the image of that flyswatter zips through my brain any time I think of doing something I shouldn't do. Funny that.

Life has been moving at the same speed it always does: break-neck. Isn't it strange how time seems to go by so slowly when you're a kid and then when you're an adult you wake up, blink, fart, sneeze, and the day is gone? Add brushing your teeth, work, housework, and tweezing hairs from places you've never had hair before and your week is over! Geez...

I've been thinking about that a lot lately. My bff just had a baby and that really triggered much of my thinking. As you may or may not know (depending on who you are, I suppose) I have two children who are no longer children. Raven is 15 and Zach (who we both agreed this weekend should have been named Milo) is 13. In comparative terms, I was just a child myself when I got married and had them, although at the time I would have disagreed. When I was holding my friend's little baby it seemed like just yesterday when I myself was tugging along with toddlers. Then I went home to my two taller-than-I-am little ones and realized how very long ago that really was. Inside, I still feel like the 17 year old who was more fun than a barrel of monkeys but on the outside I definitely look like some one's mother. When the H-E-double-L did that happen? I'm sure much longer ago than I think.

This brings me back to our friend "Jason". He was teasing me about how I post all kinds of sticky sweet things about Mr. B in my facebook status updates instead of blogging and so I thought to myself, "Self, you go and you write the blog he's waiting for and show him you can do it without all the sugar-mouth for Mr. B!" Well, I'm afraid I will have to disappoint because I just can't do it. Don't get me wrong, there have been so many times throughout our relationship where we would have rather set each other on fire than say something nice, but we manage to get through it. Thankfully, those days are few and far between and I've just realized why. When he looks at me, he still sees the fearless 17 year old girl I used to be, even though I cannot figure out how that's possible, and I still see the guy who would carry me around on his back when I was tired of walking. Confession: I was never tired of walking, I just liked being carried around and having my face against his bare shoulder - summer love is grand! For this reason and so many others, it doesn't matter if we look like some one's mother, father, grandmother, or grandfather (man I hope I never look like some one's grandfather!) he will always be "the cheese to my macaroni". It's just a shame that our bodies are showing exactly how much we love macaroni and cheese. ;)

Oh, this photo reminds me that I HAVE been busy with something new. Golf. My new addiction.

After thought: Please don't think poorly of my Grandmother. I assure you her methods have been exaggerated for the sake of petty humour.