Because I'm an introvert, weirdness is an emotion I feel on a daily basis. I remember as a kid thinking that my family was the only normal family in the entire world.  Sleepovers were the worst.  For many years I would call my parents to come and pick me up in the middle of the night.  The car ride home would consist of my repeating the word weird multiple times.  "Mom, they don't watch television after eight o'clock.  Isn't that weird?" or "Her mom makes all the kids drink milk with their dinner.  That is so weird." and "I don't like how loud her family talks.  They are just so weird.  I'm so glad we are normal."  My parents would nod their heads in agreement because deep down they felt the same way.  We all do.  Our own friends and family are the best and most normal people.  End of story.  But it is not just people that make me get that weird feeling, it is also places.  Example #1- Driving through the potato fields of Hastings, at sunset, listening to "Fields of Gold".  Example #2-Walmart on a Friday night.  Need I say more.  Probably not, but I will.  The florescent lights, strangely dressed people, strangely shaped people, barefoot toddlers, and the abundance of yellow smiley faces sends my weirdometer spinning, at which point I have to exit the building.  Example #3- Traveling should be fun.  And it is fun, that is until we drive through one of those dumpy towns that is overflowing with dilapidated motels and a Dairy Queen that has seen its better days.  Towns like that give me the worst weird feeling, like I am about to become part of a scenario similar to that of "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre."  Movies give me weird feeling too.  Example #4- The movie "Gummo" is the all time make you feel weird movie.  Only watch this movie if you are not easily offended and if you are looking to have that icky weird feeling for a week.  A steamy 45 minute shower won't wash the weird off you after watching this movie.  On a day to day basis, I get my weird feelings from ordinary situations.#5- Awkward silences. #6- When someone near me passes gas, and I don't know the person well enough to make a joke like, "Whoa, someone is bleeding the lines!" #7-Riding in the passenger seat of someone's car that I don't know very well.  #8- Greetings and Salutations (to hug or not to hug?) #9- When someone walks into the room right after I was talking about him or her. And #10- Waving to someone who didn't actually wave at me but waved to the person behind me.
If you would like to have a taste of what makes me feel weird.  Click play.

Hayden and Lucas took turns dancing this morning.  Lucas got a little ticked when Hayden interrupted his performance, but Hayden was so feeling the groove, he didn't pay any mind to his grumpy brother.  Hayden is a surprisingly good dancer. He is especially good at the "Robot".  It is his favorite move, and he is getting better at it all the time.  Luke's not too bad himself.  He mimics Hayden's moves, and creates a few of his own. 

After much practice, "Stayin' Alive" can now be added to my musical repertoire.  I found the phrasing to be the most difficult part of learning the song.  I still probably couldn't sing it without the music, but if I ever find myself in a Karaoke situation, "Stayin' Alive" will be my first choice.  That song has soul.  Moving on- I have decided on a second song to conquer.  It is a song from a great musician (Eddie Vedder) and a great movie (Into the Wild).  Matt has played this song on his guitar countless times, and even though I love the song, I have never taken the time to learn the lyrics.  I think my disinterest in learning lyrics is a combination of several things- 1. my darling children only leave me alone long enough to brush my four front teeth and 2. not knowing the words to a song has kept me from having to sing in front of Matt.  I occasionally hum along with him as he plays his guitar, and sometimes I will throw out a harmony or two, and when I do, oh boy, you would think I had just served him warm pumpkin pie in bed.   Let's just say that if Karen Carpenter was still alive and she was our neighbor, I might be a little worried.  Now, for your viewing pleasure- "Guaranteed" by Eddie Vedder.

Here are the lyrics:

On bended knee is no way to be free


Lifting up an empty cup I ask silently

That all my destinations will accept the one thats me

So I can breathe



Circles they grow & they swallow people whole

Half their lives they say goodnight to wives they'll never know

Got a mind full of questions and a teacher in my soul

And so it goes



Don't come closer or I'll have to go

Owning me like gravity are places that pull

If ever there was someone to keep me at home

It would be you



Everyone I come across in cages they bought

They think of me & my wandering but I'm never what they thought

Got my indignation but I'm pure in all my thoughts

I'm alive



Wind in my hair I feel part of everywhere

Underneath my being is a road that disappeared

Late at night I hear the trees, they're singing with the dead

Overhead



Leave it to me as I find a way to be

Consider me a satellite forever orbitting

I know all the rules but the rules did not know me

Guaranteed

1. 
   
   
   Wooden dolls can be purchased at Michael's
2. 
   
   
   Use clay to make hair- bake at 250 for 15 minutes
3. 
   
   
   Remove the clay baked hair and paint doll to your liking
4. 
   
   
   Use Tacky Glue to attach the hair
5. 
   
   
   Ribbon or fabric can be used for clothing
6. 
   
   
   Let dry

I'm a woman's man, no time to talk.

Music loud and women warm.

I've been kicked around since I was born.

And now it's all right, it's O.K.

And you may look the other way.

We can try to understand

The New York Times' effect on man.

Whether you're a brother

Or whether you're a mother,

You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Feel the city breakin'

And ev'rybody shakin'

And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha,

Stayin' alive.

Stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha,

Stayin' alive.

Well now, I get low and I get high

And if I can't get either I really try.

Got the wings of heaven on my shoes

I'm a dancin' man and I just can't lose.

You know it's all right, it's O.K.

I'll live to see another day.

We can try to understand

The New York Times' effect on man.

Whether you're a brother

Or whether you're a mother,

You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Feel the city breakin'

And ev'rybody shakin'

And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha,

Stayin' alive.

Stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha,

Stayin' alive.

Life goin' nowhere.

Somebody help me.

Somebody help me, yeah.

Life goin' nowhere.

Somebody help me, yeah.

Stayin' alive

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,

I'm a woman's man, no time to talk.

Music loud and women warm.

I've been kicked around since I was born.

And now it's all right, it's O.K.

And you may look the other way.

We can try to understand

The New York Times' effect on man.

Whether you're a brother

Or whether you're a mother,

You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Feel the city breakin'

And ev'rybody shakin'

And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha,

Stayin' alive.

Stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha,

Stayin' alive.

Life goin' nowhere.

Somebody help me.

Somebody help me, yeah.

Life goin' nowhere.

Somebody help me, yeah.

Stayin' alive

Life goin' nowhere.

Somebody help me.

Somebody help me, yeah.

Life goin' nowhere.

Somebody help me, yeah.

Stayin' alive

Hi.  My name is Katy, and I am not a runner. 

I have not been running for a month now.  To be honest, I think my brain is too small for running.  The way it bounces around in my skull leads me to believe that serious head trauma could result should I decide to continue running.  But it's not just the head trauma that is stopping me from accomplishing my goal of becoming a life-long runner, it is also my hypochondria/paranoia.  For most folks, hitting the pavement is how they clear their heads.  Make plans for the future.  Write their first screen-plays.  Not so with me.  The moment my pace increases, my mind starts racing.  "Is that my heart beat I hear?  Why is my heart beating in my forehead?  Let me check my pulse.  1,2,3...  OMG, is my pulse rate supposed to be that high. 725 beats per minute seems high.  I better walk.  I think I might be having a stroke.  No.  Don't you dare walk.  Don't be quitter."   So after a few more minutes of berating myself, I settle into the fact that I might actually not be dying and then my thoughts take an even darker dive.  Suddenly, every man I see is a sexual predator.  If a car starts slowing down as it approaches me, I begin planning my escape route.  My jog turns into a waiting game of- is this going to be the sicko that drags me into his car and takes me away from my family forever.  Then the car passes and I breathe a sigh of relief.  Matt thinks I would feel better if I just carried around a bottle of mace.  I think I would feel better if cellulite lotion really worked; then none of this would even be an issue.  But lotion doesn't work, the jarring of my tiny brain against my skull causes migraines, and creepy men in El Caminos scare me.  Running sucks! At this point I am beginning to lose hope, and guess what I do when I lose hope?  I go to Publix and buy two orange-cranberry scones from the bakery.  I eat one as soon as I get home and save one for breakfast.  This makes me feel better about how disappointing cellulite creams are.  It also allows me to forget about head trauma and elevated heart rates.  Most of all, an orange-cranberry scone from Publix could almost make me believe that a 48 year old man, with a sleeve of rebel flag tattoos, wearing a wife beater, and driving an El Camino is harmless.  I know.  Crazy.  It must be the antioxidants.  So much for running; now on to my next ill-fated attempt at completing something meaningful.  Until then, ta-ta!

Matt calls me "The Trash Maker."  And he's right.  It seems as soon as Matt gives me the warning, "The garbage can outside is overflowing, so pleeeeeeeaaaasssseee don't make any more trash," I get the inexplicable urge to edit my wardrobe, clean out the two junk drawers in the kitchen, and empty the waste basket from the bathroom.   I'm not sure, but I think it might have something to do with control.  I mean really, who does he think he is, telling me I can't make trash in my own house?  I'll show him. But that is just me being immature because deep down I know he is right.  I shouldn't cram the garbage can so full that the lid won't close, just like I shouldn't use a metal fork to scramble eggs in our non-stick pan.  But if I listened to his advice, he would win, and I just can't have that.  Our most memorable fights all include my shouting something about him not being my daddy.   What can I say, I don't like being told what to do.  I don't even like suggestions.  I don't even care if the word pleeeeeaaaassseee is used.  And when I feel like I'm being "bossed", teenage rebellion begins pumping through my veins and I get all mouthy and say things like, "Whatever.  You're not my dad," or I question him, "Why are you trying to act like you're my dad?"   I'll admit it, "You're not my daddy" has become my brass knuckles in our marital disputes.  I keep it in my back pocket for easy access.  But Matt has brass knuckles of his own.  He keeps "If it wasn't for me, nothing would get done around here," safely tucked away in his invisible lapel pocket.  So we are even.  We take turns having the upper hand, but we always go to bed holding hands, no brass knuckles, just forgiveness.

On July 28th Matt and I will celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. This is big. This is real big. A DECADE big. In ten years we have graduated college, lived in three different houses, had three children, worked full time, owned 10 different cars, 6 dogs, and 2 cats. Financially, things were difficult in the beginning- WIC checks, Save-A-Lot, chicken thighs, and Ramen noodles. Our house was a joke- drums in the living room, a leopard print covered couch, a white vinyl chair, green linoleum, white metal kitchen cabinets. Of course we now look back at those difficult times and get a little nostalgic. If you don't mind, I would like to journey back in time.
The year- 1995
"I don't want to be a cheerleader. I quit. I want to be alternative. Let's go to the thrift store and pick out some really ugly shirts. Then we will look so grunge."
Okay, so I set the scene. I was in the "I want to be different" phase, when along came Matt. He was so grunge. And all his friends were grunge. And they had piercings and blue hair and listened to Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana. You get the picture. Then somehow, one day, Matt came over to my house. I guess you could call it our first date. We sat on my bedroom floor and watched a marathon of "My So Called Life." We connected. I don't know how many weeks we dated, but then I did him wrong, and his "band" went on to sing about what a "bleep" I was at the Battle of the Bands. I was there. In the crowd. Wearing the Hershey Kiss shirt he bought me from the thrift store. That was the end of us. Four years later, we reconnected.
The year- 1998-1999I don't know if you know this, but St. Johns River Community College is actually just a place where you pay money to smoke cigarettes and sit on benches. At least that's what is was for most of us. During my first semester at Smokers Community College, Matt and I started hanging out with some of the same people. Yep. There was definitely still a connection. Googly eyes, sitting too close, bumping shoulders. After a camping trip with friends, we couldn't hide our affection for each other any longer. Despite being burned by me in the past, Matt swallowed his pride, and decided to give us another chance.
The year- 2000Even though we had two more years of college to complete, we decided to get married. My mom will deny this now, but my curfew was 11:00 pm on school nights. I found this curfew to be ridiculous. I was a college student, not a sophomore in high school. I'm not saying that my early curfew was the reason we got married so young, but I will say it didn't help. Matt and I were inseparable, and we could not think of any reason why we shouldn't just tie the knot. So we did. Karl Flagg led the ceremony which was held in the Ravine Gardens. A family of raccoons watched on from a nearby oak tree, as our guests cursed under their breath for having to endure such extreme heat. I'm sorry by the way. The reception was held at the Golf Course. There was live music and dancing and drinking. A perfect night!
The year- 2002-2007Kids, kids, and more kids. I lost my mind a little bit. Sorry, babe. Hormones and all, not to mention, genetics. I got through it, thanks to him. We took vacations, we took pictures- lots of them, we bought stuff, we made stuff, we loved the kids, we loved each other.
The year- 2008-2010Things got easier. Not so many crises. The kids became more self-sufficient. Matt got more chill. I got more stable. Money, not so tight. We smiled more, we laughed more, we did more.
Present DayToday is just another day in our marriage. I am home with Josie and Lucas. Matt is out fishing on the kayak with Hayden. When he gets home, we will have lunch and talk about things. I'll ask him to build me something or sign something and he will give me that annoyed look, and I'll laugh because I know that I'm being annoying. But that is marriage. It is about annoyances. Like hearing your partner slurp his/her coffee. But it is more about love. Like saving enough coffee for your partner to have a second cup. And that is Matt. He loves me and saves me coffee and slurps his own. And I love him, more than butterflies:)