Skip to main content

Shut Your Mouth

 In middle school, I had my first glimpse of self-awareness.  It was only a glimpse because I still rocked the Little House on the Prairie dress (Target would be proud), but it was notable.  I talked too much, and I knew it.  My parents will tell you I was a talker from an early age.  They had to give me talking time-outs so their ears could catch a break.  (Our kids come by it honestly.)  It never occurred to me that it was a problem, however, until middle school.  

In middle school I realized my chattiness was kind of annoying.  I also began to realize it was not endearing me to my friends' parents or my teachers.  But I had a problem - I had things to say, and I couldn't seem to stop myself from saying them.  I'd pray that God would help me not to talk.  He was either trying to teach me self-control or the people in my life patience because I never got laryngitis or the Ariel complex.

I was mildly better at listening more and talking less by high school.  But recently, I've noticed, I'm beginning to relapse.  I've also started losing my filter, which is another problem.  I remember, as a teen, thinking that old women said the worst things.  I always told myself I never wanted to be like that.  I'm fine with being old, but heaven help me, I need a sensor.  The things that come out of my mouth!  And once I start, there are no comas or periods.  I just go.  My poor friends!  Their poor ears!  

This is me, giving you permission to tell me to shut my mouth.  Unless we are related...then you just need to love me for who I am.  

And you can quote me on that.  

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Tough Love

 We were on our way home from a birthday party not long ago, and Fischer began complaining from the backseat that one of the kids had tripped him and laughed about it.   Ross looked at him in the rearview mirror and responded, "Life's hard, Buddy.  You're going to have to toughen up."  To which his brother responded, "Yeah.  You have no idea.  Just wait until you're eight."  At that, they both sat back in their booster seats and contemplated their life situation for the remainder of the drive home.    Evidently, life is smooth sailing in those early single digits, but once you reach the ripe old age of, "I can mostly tie my own shoes and reach the kitchen faucet," it's all hard knocks and rough living.   I know this must be true because Sawyer also told his aunt the other day, "It's time to get on it and get myself a car.  I'm going to get a Cord Tacoma."  I think what he wanted to say, but didn't have the words  was,

All I Want For Christmas...

  Christmas time is such a fun season.  I love focusing on the birth of Jesus with the kids and recognizing the true reason for celebrating.  I also relish the magical part of the season that gives so much life to our kids' imaginations and innocents.  They are always precious, but I feel it even more so this time of year.   Even our oldest hasn't completely given up on Santa, although he has a lot more questions having been around classmates and friends who coolly deny the existence of Santa or Christmas magic.  We know it can't last forever, but I'm going to milk it for at least one more season.  He is still more or less on board.  I think he wants it to be real, so he doesn't dig too deep.  Consequently, he and his siblings were all excited for a trip to meet Santa and Mrs. Claus last weekend.  I was excited too.  I love their reactions, and last year Carter was too sick to go, so this was her first opportunity to meet Santa face to face.   The trip didn't di

Christmas Miracle

 For better or worse, I don't have a lot of pride.  I used to have some, but after the third and fourth child, what little I had vanished.  I'd like to be put together.  I would like my kids to be put together.  I have come to terms with the fact that, 99% of the time, that's not going to happen.  When we leave the house, I consider it a win if everybody has on an appropriate amount of clothing and two shoes that match.   The first time we visited the orthodontist in preparation for Sawyer's braces, I showed up with four kids in dirty play clothes and one child with mismatched shoes.  It just so happens that the orthodontist's wife is the mom of some of my former students, and she was working that day.  Luckily, I also hadn't brushed anyone's hair before we left the house, so we made quite an impression.  I've been trying to raise the bar ever since, but I seem to keep failing.  The next appointment we came straight from the barn and smelled like it, but