Posted by: Michelle Mitton | November 25, 2008

How to Escape from Duct Tape and Other Valuable Tidbits

Life As I Know It tagged me for a meme. ME! How did she know I was achingly empty and without any time to come up with a real post? So today I’m doing a meme called an “honesty” meme which I have to point out is bordering on the offensive, I mean aren’t we always honest here? [she says self-righteously]. But I’m going to try and be even more honest wherever possible with some soul-wrenching, heartfelt, truth-or-dare confessions about what I’m really like.

And that part I just wrote about being “achingly empty and without any time”? That ought to count as my first honest part because it is. Honest that is.

1. I’m a master of escape. No, really–I took this rather odd self-defense class once that taught me all sorts of strange James Bond moves like how to defend yourself with a credit card (and no, it doesn’t involve charging someone to death but you should have seen what it did to the apple that I practiced on) and how to save myself if anyone ever chooses to trap me by super gluing me to something. Or wrapping me up with duct tape.

Please ignore my painting pants, I was taking a break from painting the house when Spencer and I made this video. I don’t always look that slobby–and I’m being honest.

2. I’m not really a “kid” person. Yes I love MY kids–that’s completely different–but I’m not really someone who gushes over babies, at least not typically. There are exceptions. I’m very partial to newborns because they have that freshly baked smell and those little froggy legs that spring up so cute and the little pea-toes and they crinkle their necks up so cute. But usually once babies get big enough to produce atomic diapers and runny noses and cry with more gusto than that plaintive little wail I’m less enthusiastic. I mean I still think they’re a good idea but just not right up close. I like my niece Lucy–she’s really fun–but generally I can just appreciate how cute they are from a distance and not need to touch them to get the full maternal experience.

3. I’m not a touchy-feely-huggy person. In fact no one in my extended family really is and I’m always rather fascinated by people who are the “huggy” types because they do it so well where I fail miserably. I’ll hug Andrew or the children and do just fine but friends? People at church? Siblings? Nope.

Not unless someone initiates the hug first and then it becomes apparent that they’re expecting me to participate and I would never want to offend them or make them feel uncomfortable by leaving them hanging so I join in. I’m sure though that when someone hugs me under those particular circumstances that they immediately think, “What? Am I hugging a piece of plywood?” Because I’m so awkward about it once I’m involved that it all comes off rather poorly. The “where do I put my hands?” issue and the “oh my goodness, she’s got ample bosom” issue or the “how long do I maintain this full-contact clasp?” issue all rather confuse me.

Thank goodness I’m not European where I’d be faced with the kissing issue on top of everything. Which, incidentally one of my children–I’ll not say which–came home talking about how they’d seen a woman at church “French kissing” me. Andrew and I stopped dead in our tracks and stared slack jawed at the child before regaining composure enough to shriek, “WHAT??”

Turns out the child saw someone do that kiss on the cheek move to me and recognized–very dimly–that it was a rather European-style activity but got it twisted in their mind that it was called “French” kissing because afterall we all know those French people know a thing or two about kissing.

Not to worry, we set the child straight after asking if they’d told anyone else–anyone at all do you hear me??–what they’d just repeated to us. That’s the kind of thing a kid goes and tells their teacher at school in front of the whole class then the teacher looks at you rather oddly at parent-teacher conferences.

4. I hate thinking about “things.” I don’t particularly care what kind of a car I drive but darn it, when I stick that key in the engine it better run properly. I don’t really care too much about the house I live in so long as the lights come on when I flip the switch and I have those blessed things known as indoor plumbing and central heating.

That’s probably what’s been hardest about this whole stupid remodeling project, that I’ve had to care about stuff when normally I tend to care so very little. Which doorbell is better (as if ANYONE on the planet cares what kind of a doorbell I have) or which hinge is better, which color of paint for the walls, which color of carpet for the floors. Whether I want pine or maple here and hemlock or yellow cedar there. I’m really, really tired of having to think about “things” and how they’ll look or function because life just isn’t about things but it sure seems like that the last four months have been incongruously monopolized by my forced attention in this area.

Hold on girl, it’s only going to be a few more days and I can go back to not caring at all.

5. I’m naturally very skeptical. Even though I am a religious person and believe in the principle of faith I tend to have a hard time just believing something merely because someone says it or because it’s in print. Call it the rebel in me or whatever but when someone has a hard-to-believe story they tell at a party I’m the one saying “Now wait a minute are you SURE? What are the facts? Have they been verified? And not by a friend-of-a-friend?”

You know how everyone gets those emails occasionally that try to convince you that the world is going to end if some particular law is enacted and then they try to get you to send emails or letters to your congressmen to stop the holocaust? I’m the kind who says “That couldn’t possibly be for real” followed by “Delete.”

I’ve thought about it a bit and haven’t come to the conclusion as to whether this puts me further towards the “good person” box or the “bad person” box but regardless, I have a hard time believing what are often labeled “faith promoting” stories–nowadays stuff gets passed around so easily via the internet and even word of mouth that urban legends, particularly faith-based ones really are rampant.

Once again, I am very religious and the stuff I do believe I stick too it pretty strongly but I just have a hard time getting a new hard-to-believe idea past all the reasons why it couldn’t possibly be legitimate. And if you don’t believe me just ask Andrew.

6. I can palm a basketball. Not that this has anything to do with honesty, I just think it’s kind of cool and used to impress guys back in high school. In a rather juvenile way I guess.

My brother is much better at it than I am, he can grab it on the fly while I have to hold it still to keep it in place–but then he’s 6’4″ and wears a size 27 FFFF shoe or something like that so it’s like grabbing gumballs to him.

Where did this skill take me? Was I the star of the basketball team? Nope–I disliked basketball so it was a complete waste I guess. Well perhaps not a total waste, my tall genes have passed onto my sons who happen to like basketball very much so at least those inches were good for something–besides palming basketballs.

And that’s all the honesty I have time for today folks. The carpet guys just left for the day and I get to move furniture back into the family room. When they showed up they shook their heads and said, “I think there’s been a mistake–you the folks that ordered BLACK carpet?”

Why yes we are. And it looks smashing if I do say so myself.

***

Janet from Fayetteville, North Carolina was this week’s giveaway winner and has won the Evenflo Symphony carseat–the carseat of kings. Starting Saturday I’ve got a week of giveaways coming and your odds are pretty good that you’ll win something so stay tuned!

Sponsored by Tiny Prints–The place for the perfect holiday invitations.

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