Before I tell you about “the rules,” I want to
take a moment to say thank you to my husband for pushing me in a direction I adamantly
did not want to go. Back in the fall, he
signed me up for a writing workshop. He
did it at a time when my craft business was shrinking; I was uninspired by my
drawings, and in need of some kind of break from the kids. While Steve is no longer in school, he still
works two jobs, which involves overtime on weekends and travel that takes him
out of town almost one weekend a month. He was right, I did need something to
do outside of caring for the kids and our home, but I wasn’t sure…ok, let’s be
honest, I was downright scared, to go. And,
with good reason…not just because I hadn’t written anything in such a long
time, I was concerned about the setup. This wasn’t my first rodeo.
Steve has gotten into the habit of signing me up for classes
in lieu of traditional gifts for birthdays and holidays. I love it because I’m a terrible person to
buy for. I’m not “fancy” as Natalie
often tells me. I have one purse that I’ve
had for almost two years. It’s not a
designer bag and I’ll keep using it until it can no longer serve its
purpose. My feeling is, if I don't have $200 to put in my wallet, I have no business carrying a purse costing that
much. I’m not a clothes horse. I have a couple of outfits I feel really good
in and much of the rest is “mom wear” consisting of jeans and T-shirts. I love shoes, but comfort comes first. I have a well-worn pair of Sketchers that I
trade off with my tennis shoes depending on my mood.
Which brings me to the classes he has signed me up for in
the past…like belly dancing. Now, I take
partial blame for this one, because I may have been the one to put the idea in
his head in the first place. I’m pretty
sure it was during an argument in which I was moaning about needing a higher
purpose than being the only one in the house who can run the dishwasher, find a
pair of matching socks or has been educated in the ways of when to change the
toilet roll. During the heat of the
exchange he asked, “Well, what do you want to do?!”
Belly dancing may have slipped out. Ok, so I’m not the best under pressure. If you want to win a million dollars, DO NOT
ask me to be your lifeline. Anyway,
there’s a reason chicks like me don't belly dance. As I tried to imitate the instructor’s moves I
realized my body had no shake, which kinda makes you look just plain
silly. Not to mention, the class was
held at a community rec center with big, clear windows for anyone passing by to
stand and gawk at…I’m talking to you, Mr. Sweatin’-to-the-Oldies-man. Sigh…so instead of hurting Steve’s feelings
because it really was a sweet gesture, I continued to go. Only instead of actually going to the class, I
spent the remaining weeks hiding out at Big Lots.
So, thanks Steve for pushing me to do things outside my
comfort zone that have helped me grow in ways I never could have imagined
for myself. The Rules We Live by is a
poem (my first ever!) I created during that fall workshop series.
The Rules We Live By
Always
three
things on his plate
Don’t let the foods touch.
Always round
meals chosen
Don’t serve spaghetti.
Always Legos
topic of speech
Don’t talk about
sports
Always few
friends and invites.
Don’t bring up
recess.
Always struggles
with recall
Don’t ask about his
day.
Always concrete
with his thoughts
Don’t expect him to
read between the lines.
Always Velcro
fasteners selected
Don’t ask him to tie his shoes.
Always focused
on the details
Don’t ask him about the plot.
Always rises
before dawn
Don’t stay up for
Letterman.
Always answers
honestly
Don’t forget to wear
thick skin.
Always pure
in his heart
Don’t
dash his superhero dreams.
Always loving
hugs me freely
Don’t forget to pinch
myself.
