D'oh!

On Sunday, I toted home 50 lbs of Play-Doh.  Oh, wait.  I need some sort of disclaimer in fine print:
I am under the impression that I can legally mention my ardent adoration for Play-Doh here without the FTC confiscating one child (or both, if I am so lucky) OR having my ads yanked OR a Gentle Reader questioning my ethics OR relinquishing my box seat in heaven to the Dark Lord because Hello! I have spent a small nation's GDP on Play-Doh   already.  Are you with me?   And yes, I thought to myself as I crammed box after box of chewing gum into my bags "Kelli, we already have enough Play-Doh at home, why lug yet more home? Is fresh breath not more of a priority here?"   Then, I answered to myself "Kelli, you are cheap and cannot leave $20 worth of Play-Doh.  Be one with your frugality, Kelli. BE ONE." 

So! Anyway! Whatever!

I load up the Play-Doh in my suitcase, bring it home and then watch my kids completely lose their ever-loving minds over this stuff.  Imagine chimps having a Feces Fest.  Arun and Anjali's reaction was along similar lines with the same amount of teeth-baring and shrieking, albeit far less malodorous (mmmmm, PLAY-DOH .  The very smell of childhood, no?)  It was a crazy sight to behold - you would suspect Team Chaos had never seen Play-Doh before.  As if there was already not pink and green Play-Doh firmly entrenched in our carpet (The same carpet also known as "The Jackson Pollack tribute")  

As I pry hardened pebbles of dough off the soles of my feet, I cannot help but remember the Play-Doh Hair Salon from my own childhood.  I would carefully cram dough up the character's butt, then slowly turn the crank to squeeze the mush through teensy holes in the character's head.  After using thick plastic scissors to cut the squishy tendrils, I would zhoosh the hair into something resembling a "style" (or so I thought)  But alas, Ken Paves I was not, so I put the scissors down and eventually ground my way through business school.  A better use for society, to be sure.

It is Thursday, all of the free Play-Doh has dried and hardened.  Loose lids are strewn about, forlorn.  I dig more dough from our never-ending cache out of the hall closet, lift off the lid of a fresh container and inhale.

The smell always takes me back.

If you cannot laugh at yourself, then who the hell can you laugh at?

The other day, Liz at Mom-101 asked for our most embarrassing grade school experience. Are you kidding? I began wearing glasses in 1st grade. To boot, I was a child in that glorious decade of polyester, disco and garish color schemes (and inexplicably, macrame). The era known as the 70s. Dude. My entire grade school career was embarrassing. Those glasses and that decade created a perfect storm of geekitude that doomed me with a tailwind that continued on through the mid-80s. For damned sure, I never got picked to "doesy-doe" when square dancing was taught in gym class.

Kelli and the Purple Magic Marker

I am 2nd from the left in the 2nd row. See, I was not lying. Also, the back of the picture, says "The one I circled is a cutie. His name is Keith McCoy." I signed my name for good measure. Also, in purple Magic Marker. But, of course.

On Saturday, this class of mine from Oskaloosa had their 20th reunion. While I did not actually matriculate from Oskaloosa Preparatory Academy For the Elite and Over-Privileged living in Jefferson County, Kansas, I am an honorary member of the class since I attended Kindergarten through half of 6th grade.

As I was digging through my class photos, I realized that in our 3rd grade snap, Keith McCoy was circled. Oops. I also realized that my crush was a long, long time ago and that in the past 3 decades I have honed and refined a sense of self-deprecating humor that does not mind my own butt being the butt of jokes. Why not? Indeed. Besides, I remembered Keith had moved away in 5th grade and would not even be there. So, I took the snaps. Except that I did not realize that Keith had moved back after I had moved away and that he did actually attend high school at Oskie. Oops.

Gentle reader, you know where this is heading, right?? Of course, he was there at the reunion.

Thank goodness, I have that wicked sense of humor because telling Keith the whole story was one of the funniest damned things I have done in a long, long time.

Are you happy? Why not? What hell is happiness anyway?

Being happy doesn't mean everything is perfect. It means you have decided to look beyond the imperfections. --Unknown

The Journal of Joe Peacock had a recent post that made me think....and think....and think. I thought it was inspiring enough that I wanted to share it here and encourage everyone to read it. (Hat tip to Average Jane for the link - this is not a site I read. Also, hat tip for Google Reader and the ability to share items.)

The post features a really goofy picture of a really goofy looking guy who took his cat to a professional photographer with him. But? The goofy guy just really looks freakin' happy. And Joe Peacock writes a nice post about it:

I hope that among the horrible crap that 2008 (and other years) has brought you that you can find at least one thing in your life that you can just grab and hold and smile about every time you think of it. I hope that you find joy in moments, if not in life as a whole. And if you aren't there - if everything's miserable and you can't find small victories each day, please do try to find one. Maybe your cat. Maybe pick up a pencil and doodle something that will make you giggle. Maybe write a blog entry on the net about the silliest thing you've ever seen.

Maybe this picture of Walter and his cat.

Who knows. I just hope you find joy where you can. And when you find it, I hope you hold on to it. Cherish it in your heart and keep it deep within you, like a coal which warms you from deep within. Never let that ember burn out. Always stoke it and give it plenty of air to breathe. Hold on to your joy. Never let it go, because there are plenty of forces in this world which would be glad to take it from you.

Definitely read the entire post, I thought it was worth the time.

At the same time reading that post, I was receiving an email from Goofy Girl with an incredibly thoughtful quote from Stephan Hoeller:

A pearl is a beautiful thing that is produced by an injured life. It is the tear [that results] from the injury of the oyster. The treasure of our being in this world is also produced by an injured life. If we had not been wounded, if we had not been injured, then we will not produce the pearl.

I spent much of 2008 being unhappy for some reason or another. Some of which was out of control, some of which was very much in my control.

I am not one for New Year's Resolutions, but I am totally up for Life Resolutions. I am going to try harder to get off of my lazy butt and to quit complaining. That is all.

I suspect it will be enough.

Hey, after we bring Democracy to Iraq, you think we could see about getting some of that over here, too??

Ask and you shall receive! Thanks for all the posting ideas. I will get through them, I swear.

First and foremost, I did post over at Brit's crib yesterday about the so-called dangers of Free Range Trick or Treating. Check it out!

Now, for some questions:
Several of you asked about Halloween costumes. I will post snaps later, although there is one on Brit's site. This year, Arun is an astronaut and Anjali is a witch. Originally, Arun wanted to be a rocket which would been a blast (pun intended) to create. Realistically, however, a 3 year old being a rocket would have been a pain. We get a lot of mileage out of our costumes - between Boo at the Zoo, Arun's school functions and Halloween itself. I know some folks are adamant about only wearing costumes on Halloween itself, but Arun's enthusiasm does not seem dampened yet for his costume.

Also, several of you asked about Asshole #1. Um. Hmmm. I am not comfortable laying out all of the sordid story here, but I will tell the short version. We began dating when I was 18 and we dated for over 4 years during which we thought we would get married. The relationship had all the usual markings of first love, youth, immaturity and spats. Lots and lots of spats. It took me a long time to get over that relationship which was not helped by the fact that while dating, the guy insisted Certain Events did not happen and that I was a crazy, jealous lunatic to think so yet when we broke up, I found out that lots and lots of Certain Events did, indeed, happen.

I do not regret the relationship though. Because of the relationship, I was enmeshed in a fun group of diverse cultures - Pakistani, Indian, Afghan, Sri Lankan, Middle Eastern and South American. We were an eclectic bunch and truly, my college years were so much fun because of the folks I got to hang out with (for one, we always had the best dance parties!) Also, because of the relationship, I did go to Pakistan in 1993. Someday, Brash, I promise I will post about it. I will try to do that within the next month or so.

Anyway, that relationship made me who I am today. After my experiences, Central Asia wormed its way into my being, never to leave. It is also why marrying an Indian Catholic was absolutely the very best situation for me and as such, my family did not think twice of it when X and I began dating. I truly feel I have the best of both worlds! I could not have married a more perfect guy for me.

Everyone should be so fortunate to say that, right? Right.