What If

Mama Kat – who by the way, sort of rocks – does a Writer’s Workshop every week.  I almost always play along, though more often than not, I do not publish them.  Not here, anyway.

I have a tendency to pick the most difficult prompts.  The brutally honest, no-holds-barred kind that are hard for me to get out and even harder to let go of once I do.  It’s therapeutic to write, and I’ve done this as long as I can remember with no need to broadcast it to the world.

But sometimes – sometimes – I wonder what would happen if I did.  What if I really did put it all out there, warts and all?  What would people think?  Would those that love me, stop?  Would they think that they never really knew me at all?  Would they be relieved to know that someone else thinks the same way they do?

I hold myself back for two reasons.  First, because if my life were ‘Sense and Sensibility’, I’d rather be Elinor than Marianne.  I’ve been Marianne and gotten burned.  Better to keep a tight rein on your emotions, I believe.  And second, because I have a ‘fake it ’til you feel it’ policy that I apply to instances when I fear my natural instinct might lead me astray.  Sometimes faking the right thing helps me feel the right thing.  Sort of like plastering a smile on your face until you actually feel happy.

So if I stopped holding myself back, what I might be putting ‘out there’ could be too much.  Too revealing, too personal, too hurtful.

Today isn’t the day I stop holding back, just in case that’s what you were waiting for.  But I wanted to share with you the prompt that rocked me last week.

1.) Lou Holtz (don’t ask me who that is) once said, “life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.” Do you believe this? Describe a time when you feel like you could have responded a different way and produced a different outcome.

Can you imagine the possibilities here? For 6 days now I have been considering the many directions my life could have taken, had I just done any one thing differently.

Every reaction, every decision, perhaps even every ‘avoidance of making a decision’ produces an outcome, so there are myriad opportunities for change.  One little choice that might have made all the difference in the world.

As a person who has always been intrigued by the concept of fate, this prompt especially appeals to me.

{Maybe I am revealing too much.  Fate and Christianity don’t necessarily go hand in hand, do they?}

Yes, there are many ‘What-Ifs’, and this past week I undoubtedly spent too much time considering them.  But introspection can be healthy, right?

Now I just need to look for the learning.

If you’d like to try this out yourself, Mama Kat posts her prompts on Tuesdays.

In which I pack my bags for Australia

I pride myself on strange things.  Like my childrens’ musical repertoire.  Or my ability to spell repertoire.

My girls can and will happily sing on command such varied music as Springtime for Hitler (Broadway-The Producers), Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash), To Make You Feel My Love (Bob Dylan), R-E-S-P-E-C-T (Aretha Franklin), Leaving on a Jet Plane (Peter, Paul and Mary),  Country Road (John Denver), Single Ladies (Beyonce – and this one they did not learn from me…), and Big House (Audio Adrenaline).

This pleases me. No Kidz Bop in my house, thankyouverymuch.

I also draw great satisfaction from my ability to swat flies.

For real.

We live in farm country, and while the horses and cows and chickens on the farm behind us are lovely to look at, they do attract unwanted pests to the area.  In the summer time they are so thick sometimes you can barely stand to sit outside.  Of course that could also be because of the oppressive humidity (Hello, yesterday’s heat index of 113 degrees!)

They fail to mention these things in the Kentucky travel brochures.  Little publicized fact – bluegrass, bourbon, and race horses bring with them heat, humidity, and flies, my friends.  Enter at your own risk.

So I’ve honed my flay-swatting skills.  I’m not exactly grabbing chopsticks yet, but I dare say Mr. Miyagi wouldn’t be too disappointed in me.

Yesterday I killed 37.  Inside our house.  How gross is that?

[Not as gross as not killing them, I assure you]

But at least we could sleep in relative peace.

In mentioning this to a friend from Down Under, I learned that I am living in entirely the wrong place.  Not because of the flies, either, but because there is nothing I can really do with my talent here.  Sure, we can eat dinner fly-free, but that’s a fleeting satisfaction.

Apparently if I relocate, I can turn my skills into a real, productive force.  Introducing the Aussie Competitive Fly Swatting experience.

I knew I was in the wrong place.

Actual photo of me swatting fly. Seriously.

In which I make you feel like a great mother

 Yesterday was a serious Mom Fail.  And I really have no excuse.  We were busy?  I just forgot?  My brain has been replaced by marshmallow fluff? (which incidentally, I don’t even like)

Yesterday was Catie’s end-of-season soccer pizza party.  And I was the assistant coach.  And I totally forgot to take her.

That’s it – I just forgot.  At party time, we were either sitting on the porch watching the rain, or blowing bubbles to see how long they would survive amongst the raindrops.  That was the pressing appointment that kept us from her soccer party.

And also kept her from receiving her medal.

Thankfully for me, she has not yet realized we missed it.  Unfortunately for me, she will be none too happy when she does.  Considering she also missed last fall’s party.

I feel just awful about it.  But in reality, this is not the first time – or the biggest time – I have failed them as a mother.  In ways big and small, I screw up daily, and pray nightly that the damage I do won’t be permanent. 

Moms are in a tough position.  There is a perfect Father, but there is no perfect mother.  So I can’t even say, “Hey kids, I’m sorry I’m such a trainwreck, but look here! Here is someone who did it all right!  Don’t look at me, look at her!”

Nope, only dads get that privilege.  I’m left to do the best I can, carry lots of guilt, and apologize profusesly, hoping that’s enough.  But of course I know that it isn’t.  I know I’m a mess.  That nightly praying to be a better mother?  Not so much nightly, since sometimes I’m so exhausted I fall asleep mid-prayer and don’t even make it to that part. 

Hopelessly Flawed.

All of the craft projects I come up with and the handmade clothes I make the girls draw lots of compliments from people we meet, but what they don’t know is that sometimes I’m a grouch the entire time we’re making the craft, grumbling over spilled glitter and fussing over painted-on clothes.  Sometimes I make them play outside so I can sew in peace.

I hate it when someone admires their outfit and says what a good mom I must be.  The outfit has nothing to do with anything.  What good does a cute dress do when your mom neglected you to make it?

My own mother says I remember my own childhood through rose-colored glasses, and while I don’t really believe her, a not-small part of me hopes that it’s true.  I hope that she did lose her temper or get impatient or say ‘no’ a little too often, because I don’t remember it at all and that gives me hope.  Hope that one day, maybe my own daughters will block out my shortcomings and remember only the good moments.

Of course, the very real possibility exists that I’m right, that I did have a fabulous mother, and that I am falling hideously short.  And that’s what keeps me up at night.

It all comes down to patience, I think.  If I were more patient, everything would be better.  Except I’m not [generally] all that impatient.  And I know all about not praying for patience because then you’ll get things that help you develop it.  I don’t pray for patience.  And I already have that development tool in the form of my husband.

But I’ve gotten sidetracked, haven’t I?  The whole point was to make you feel like a better mother by exposing what a lousy mother I am.  (Because let’s face it, no matter how awful it is to admit, we all like to feel like we’re better than someone.  No one wants to finish a race last.  No one wants to be the fattest woman on the beach.  No one wants to be the worst mother in history.  It’s true – don’t even try to deny it.  It’s not that you’re wishing ill on someone else, it’s just that you need someone or something to make you feel like you aren’t so bad, and you certainly could be worse.  Like her.  I get it.)

You know how sometimes you’ll hear someone say that they aren’t winning any Mother of the Year awards?  Just this week I read a Facebook status from a new mother who was devastated that she bopped her child’s forehead with the plastic wipey box. 

Are you kidding me lady? 

My children have rolled off the bed, rolled off the changing table (yeah, yeah, never step away, I know), fallen down stairs, had their heads bonked into a doorframe while I was carrying them…and that’s all within the first few months of life.  I couldn’t even begin to name the rest of that list. 

When Annie was 6 weeks old I was nursing her in the middle of the night, and I fell asleep and dropped her.  Onto the hardwood floor.  True story.  She cried for a few minutes but then went back to sleep, so obviously it was a life-threatening concussion and my child might never recover.  So like any new mother, I rushed her to the emergency room of the nearest children’s hospital.  Where they were much more concerned about the woman sobbing hysterically than they were about the baby sleeping peacefully.  And they laughed and hugged me when I asked if they were going to call CPS.

Live and learn.

So I promise you, my story isn’t one of those lame, ‘we’ve all done that’ stories.  Oh no.  This is a mom failure that is nothing short of spectacular, and it is previously unconfessed [publicly].  So read it and feel fantastic my friends, because you surely are a better mother than this lunatic.

Annie was about 3 and solidly in the middle of her asking-a-thousand-questions-a-day phase.  It was annoying, but only because I had no idea how much worse Catie would have it.  If I’d known I would have counted my blessings back then.  So we’re out running errands, and I’m losing my mind.  I’m in my husband’s compact car because our van is in the shop, it’s hard to get her in and out of the back seat, and I’m hugely pregnant.  And it’s hot and humid, and pouring down rain.  It was a trying day – that’s my only excuse.  Somehow we landed on the topic of the weather, with Annie asking a hundred questions about how rain is formed and why it rained and when it rained and what if it rained.  No newbie to this, I had learned a long time ago that if the answer was God, she stopped questioning. 

Where do babies come from?

God.

Worked like a charm.

But in my harried state that day, I didn’t stop to consider my words before they exited my mouth.

But what if we don’t want rain?

God knows what we need better than we do.  He sends rain for a reason.

But I don’t want it to rain!

Well God doesn’t care what you want.

Whoops!

-backtrack, backtrack, backtrack-

I meant, God doesn’t always give you what you want, He gives you what you need.  And sometimes you might think He is making a mistake, but He isn’t.  He never does.  So you just have to trust Him.

And mentally I added and please forgive me for being such a horrible jerk of a mother.

I mean seriously, what kind of slimeball tells a 3-year-old that God doesn’t care about what they want?

Oy.

So take comfort in knowing that no matter how you’ve messed up today, at least you’re not that bad.

You’re welcome.

On my heart today

If you need prayer, I might not be your girl.

Sounds terrible, right?

I don’t mean it to, honestly.  I would be happy to pray for you, whatever burden you are carrying.  The problem with me is, chances are, I’m not praying the way you’d like me to be praying.

On Wednesday nights, our church has ‘Go! night’, where folks break off into different teams.  Some go out on home visits, some send cards to shut-ins, some have a bible study, and some pray for the prayer requests we have received.  I’ve been going to the prayer group, but every week I first find myself praying about whether or not I belong there. 

I don’t consider myself a prayer warrior.  I pray fervently, but I also pray differently. 

I question if different is better.

Many years ago, a tragedy struck our family.  The kind that shakes you to your very core, and changes who you are forever.  The kind of thing that is virtually unspeakable, because the words bring more pain than one can bear.

When we were in the midst of this, I cried.  I sobbed with the kind of gut-wrenching wails that sound inhuman, and I prayed more and prayed harder than I ever have in my life.  I was desperate, and terrified, and unable to do anything but pray.  I begged for a different outcome.  I begged for something to change.  I pleaded for a miracle.  As desperate people do, I asked that I be taken instead.

The outcome remained the same.

I was not taken. 

And although I now have three beautiful daughters who would not be here had my ‘deal’ been accepted – I still mourn that loss.

I still can’t talk about it.  Still can’t find the words to offer comfort to those who need it most.

I know that is selfish of me, and I am ashamed of that.

Hopelessly Flawed.

My faith was not shaken by this event.  They say when tragedy strikes, it either destroys faith or makes it stronger.  It made my faith stronger.  But it also made me realize that I need to change the way I pray.  Change the things that I pray for.

It isn’t easy to do.  It’s human nature to pray for what we want.

Please God, help me find a better job.

Please God, let us get that new house we want.

And there’s nothing wrong with that, per se.  The Bible does not tell you to keep your thoughts to yourself!  Scripture tells us that God knows your heart.  He knows your desires, your secrets, your burdens.  He wants a relationship with you.  He wants you to bring everything to Him – everything.

Yet I can’t seem to do that anymore.  I’m not trying to hold back, but I am trying to reshape my heart.

I’m trying to let go of what I want, and want what He wants instead.

I don’t pray for a specific outcome anymore – I pray for His will to be done.  I don’t pray for healing, I pray for courage.  I don’t pray for a lighter load, I pray for a stronger back.

I feel bad about this sometimes.  A friend will ask me to pray for something, and instead of praying for what they want, I pray for God’s hand to be in their situation.  That isn’t exactly the same, is it? 

I’m still weighing this, whether I should switch to a different team.  And I’m still praying about it.  And I’m still happy to pray for you, too.

Just as long as you can accept that we don’t always get what we want.

In which I dis everyone’s favorite place

con·trar·y

–adjective

1. opposite in nature or character; diametrically or mutually opposed: contrary to fact; contrary propositions.

2. opposite in direction or position: departures in contrary directions.

3. being the opposite one of two: I will make the contrary choice.

4. unfavorable or adverse.

5. perverse; stubbornly opposed or willful.

I freely acknowledge that I’m a bit contrary.

It’s not that I want to be difficult.  I don’t mean to cause a problem.  And I’m a displaced Yankee Southern lady, so I certainly wouldn’t want to be any bother. 

I’m just…different.

If everyone is doing it, I’m probably not.

If everyone likes it, I probably don’t.

It’s just the way I roll.

I’ve been like this forever.  When Commodore 64 was all the rage, I was lovin’ my Texas Instruments.  When NKOTB had all the girls squealing, I was discovering Leonard Cohen.  While my friends left high school for college, I took a year off and weighed my options.

Contrary.

I never liked the popular guys in high school, never swoon over dreamy movie stars.  I’ll take me the offbeat brainiac in the corner anyday.

 Now let me warn you, several of you are going to be upset with what I’m about to say.  I know for a fact that a couple of you might even feel physical pain at what I’m about to tell you.  Allow me to apologize in advance.  I don’t mean to upset you.  And I’m not insulting you personally.  This is a macro situation.

As an adult, perhaps the biggest evidence of my contrariness (is that a word?) comes in the form of my shopping habits.  The great divide between myself and my friends is Target.  You know, the ‘discount’ store that you all love.

Guess who doesn’t?

Tar-jay.  Gag me with a spoon, people.  Target is the store that sells cute stuff for twice the price you could get it elsewhere.  (Cue the parade of loyal shoppers declaring that is so not true)  Every time I hear a Target person make fun of Wal-Mart, they cement my love of Wal-Mart and disdain for Target a little bit more. 

I know your opinion of us.

But as a Wal-Mart person, I can tell you that we have opinions of you, too. 

We think you’re snobs.  We don’t like the way you make fun of Wal-Mart, and drink your ridiculously over-priced coffee while you look down your noses at us.  We think you’re not nearly as smart as you like to think you are, since we buy the same products on rollback.  AND, we think the fact that Target does not allow the Salvation on their property is really, really crappy. [Yeah, I went there.  Again.  Stop me when it fails to be true.]

But how often do you hear a Wal-Mart person saying all that?  um, never.  Wal-Mart people can’t get away with it.  Yet it’s common and apparently perfectly acceptable for Target people to belittle us.

Target people, you know how you say that Wal-Mart is dirty and people there are rude?

Wal-Mart people see your store as putting on airs and your people equally as rude, but catty about it.

I don’t know why this little piece of retail real estate has come to mean so much to me, but it has.  Don’t even start on all of the things that are wrong with Wal-Mart corporation - I know.  And I could give you a Target laundry list in return.  I’m not debating the morality of big business here, I’m talking about the day-to-day attitude of the public.

The ‘Target is where it’s at’ mentality.

Maybe that’s why I’ve declared myself firmly in the Wal-Mart camp. 

I’m contrary like that.

Writer’s Workshop – What I hate about you

I’m going with Prompt #1.

10 Reasons why you’re better off without him….or her….or it.

1. You don’t love me the way that I love you.
2. You’re empty inside.
3. The good moments we spend together are fleeting at best.
4. You look good on the outside, but looks are deceiving.
5. You take more than you give.
6. You’re never around. You think once a year you can sweep me off my feet, but I require more than that.
7. I can’t afford you!  Good grief, you burn through my money in the blink of an eye.
8. After we’re together, I feel bad about myself.
9. You don’t care about making me feel bad, either. You just sit there and mock me, relentlessly.
10. You’re not loyal.  You cozy up with women all over the place and I’m supposed to just take it.

Wow.  I was planning on writing about someone something else entirely, but when I got going something else entirely just poured out.  I’m guessing some of you can relate.

photo credit: this is a thing

Die, Girl Scout Cookies. 

I need you dead and gone.

I literally ate 3 thin mints while on the treadmill today. 

My judgement has been compromised.

And I am ‘supposedly’ training for a half-marathon and participating in not one, but two fitness challenges as well.

Not. Looking. Good.

But my frozen Samoas only come around once a year, so how can I say no to that?

Clearly, I cannot.

And this, my friends, is the tale of why I will never again wear a 2-piece bathing suit.  Because I have the willpower of a…dang.  What’s the rest of that sentence?  A person with no willpower?

I’ll have to have a cookie while I think about that for a minute.

Please don’t hold this against us

Annie’s 1st grade class is working on a pen pal project.  In 21st century style, though, it’s not really about the pens.  This project also involves audio, video, a school tour, and a smartboard.  It’s pretty cool, and the kids have been really excited about it.  The principal thought the project was so unique that she called the local paper to do a story on it. 

This is the first time I’ll point out to you that we live in a small town. 

So one day last week, a reporter came out to the classroom to take pictures and ask questions about the project.  He asked the teachers if they had a particularly expressive child that he could interview, and wouldn’t you know, my little Annie was the one he talked to.  ‘Expressive’ is definitely a word that suits her.

I was told to look for it to run in the Sunday paper.  And as it turned out, being a small town, this story was worthy of the front page.  Pretty impressive, right? 

Well.

So I read along to find my girl, and I come across this lovely little tidbit.

Student Annie Roberts-Nault has already found out about several similarities she shares with her pen pal, Emily.

“She likes to play in PE in school … I told her PE was my favorite class, too,” Roberts-Nault said.

Dogs are a common feature in both households as well, with her pen pal having one pup while Roberts-Nault’s family has three. According to Roberts-Nault, however, more does not necessarily equal better as one of her pets, Rigley, possesses a bad habit. The canine has a tendency to poop on her family’s deck, a definite defecation no-zone.

Props to Annie for landing us on the front page of the newspaper with a story like that.

I would like to clear up a few things now.

• Wrigley is spelled wrong.  Cubs, people, it’s the Cubs.
• She is not my dog.
• She is 9 years old and this has only happened twice in her life.  It’s true that I can’t stand the dog, but even I can say that this is not her major problem.
• She is a 25 pound black lab mix, up to date on all her shots, and ready for a new home at any time.

Did I mention we’re a very small town?  A last name like ours really doesn’t blend in.  Not to mention Annie’s such an extrovert that half the county knows who she is already.  Absolutely no chance of anyone not seeing this one. 

How great for us to now be known as the family with defecation issues!

I am, of course, still proud of her.

And, of course, concerned about her inability to filter for appropriate content.

At least she didn’t tell them about the time Daddy kicked Mommy and Mommy was crying on the floor of the closet.  [Catie actually told this to her pre-school teacher.  That the kids are still in our possession at this point is remarkable.]

So it could have been better, but it definitely could have been worse, too.

The article ends by stating

Technology, it seems, no matter how advanced, is never perfect.

It seems the same could be said for my Annie.

~Read it (and laugh at us) for yourself here.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

I did some work in the kitchen last weekend.  We had a lovely snowstorm Friday night which made for lots of Saturday morning fun, so while the girls played in the snow with their Daddy, I cleaned/purged/rearranged and organized the kitchen cabinets.  As usual, it was a lot more work than I had anticipated, and it took a lot longer than I had expected.  The end result is great though, and I’ll be bragging about it next Makeover Monday. 

I unexpectedly got another post out of the deal, though, in the form of my mother and I sharing some insanity.

We have a lot in common.  She’s pretty much my best friend.  But I never realized we shared a possible mental illness until Saturday.

It’s called a crippling inability to ever throw anything away.  Ever.

We’re not crazy hoarders, mind you.  We’re just practical.  It pains me to throw away something, even if I can’t use it, because I know someone can. 

Someone needs this junk!

Nevermind that the shirt has paint all over it, if you have no shirt at all then this is better than nothing, right?

For years I thought this was my own hangup, but Saturday I realized it’s not my fault – I inherited it.

When I moved out of my parents’ house for college mom packed up a bunch of spices for me.  Some were put into little glass jars, others she just gave me her containers.  Containers that she refilled because we cook a lot, so we buy spices in bulk.

I now do the same thing.  I buy spices at Sam’s Club and refill my small, easier-to-hold containers and continue using them.  I never gave the practice much thought, really – after all, it’s what my mom did.

My mom also used to re-use ziploc bags, which as a kid I thought was just ridiculous.  I still very clearly remember the first time I re-used a freezer bag. 

It just had bread in it!  It’s like it was never used!

It hit me right away that I was A) old and B) my mother’s daughter.

It took me longer to notice the spice containers.

It started when I saw mom’s handwriting on this bottle and thought ‘Man, I’ve had that for a long time!’ (Despite the fact that I am, of course, still 19 and just moved out of my parents’ house. Ahem.)

(Notice she’s re-labeled a bottle.  You know, since we can’t throw away a plastic bottle.  Also notice, I am mocking her here, yet still using it myself.  Because if she’s on the crazy ship, I’m going down with her.  That’s how much I love her.)

Hmmm…let’s check the date on that one.

Can you read that clearly?  Because it says 1986. 

Yes.

1986, the year of Kiss, Papa Don’t Preach, and Walk Like an Egyptian.

Yeah.

But wait!  I also have these beauties:

That’s right, baby.  1977.

AKA the year of Dancing Queen, Margaritaville, and Car Wash.

I have spice containers in my house that are 33 years old, people.

It’s not normal.  

Unless you are in my family, in which case it is actually completely normal.  My mom is probably reading this right now thinking ‘Well they’re still perfectly good! What’s the issue?’

And they really are very nice containers.  You can’t buy ones that close that nicely anymore. 

 These ones are broken in just right, and they are still perfectly good!  Why would I throw away a perfectly good container?

I wouldn’t. 

Because I am my mother’s daughter.

UPDATE:

After reading this a few minutes ago, my mom looked in her spice cabinet.  Please pardon my blurry cell phone pictures, but I couldn’t wait to share this with you. 

I am sorry to report that she, too, has spice containers from 1977.

She also has this one from 1974:

And this one, which has no date, but by picture alone I’d say could easily be our oldest container winner:

She got that one from my Grama.

And now we’d like to re-iterate that we are refilling the tins, not actually using the same spices from the 1970′s.

And we do wash them before refilling.

And we do know that we’re crazy.

I really haven’t abandoned you.

I’m sure you think I have, since my track record is so bad.  I’ve been thinking about you all week, actually.  I’ve just been blogging elsewhere.  I’m guest blogging about organization this week over at Here Comes The Stork. 

Stop laughing.

Seriously.

I totally do know how to organize. 

Just because I haven’t answered your email from 3 weeks ago, and I haven’t finished putting away the Christmas decorations, and you can only open the kids’ kitchen cabinet at your own risk because assorted plastic cups are likely to rain down on your head if you move too quickly does not mean that I don’t know how to organize.

side note: Nella, I still have not even mailed your Christmas gift. I suck. I’d apologize, but since you’ve known me for 15+ years, realistically I’m sure you are not surprised by this information.

Ok, back to my regularly scheduled ‘I am too organized’ post.

Exhibit A – the kids’ bathroom closet:

Perfectly organized.

And when I come up with an exhibit B, you can bet I’ll be rubbing that in your face too.

So there.

Eat your laughter my friends.

And then hop over to HCTS if you’d like to read what kept me away from you this week.  Or if you’d like to learn more about selling online.  In case you didn’t know, I’m actually a moderator over at the HCTS forums for moms who sell online (eBay, Amazon, websites, through direct sales, etc) or other work at home venues, blogging, yada yada yada.  I’ve been a member there for more years than I can remember, and it’s definitely my virtual home away from home.  And the ladies there are super nice. 

They never laugh at me when I write about organization.

To-Do, part 346

I’m guessing I’m not the only one with a mile long to-do list, right?  Mine looks a little bit like this:

Things that I have no choice about – pay bills, buy groceries, ship packages, sew

Things that I do eventually, but put off as long as possible – clean, put away laundry, bathe the dog

Things that I will do one day, when I have a free weekend – organize pictures, organize closets, organize my life…

Things that I will never have the time, money, or long enough life to do, but still want to do – go to culinary school, become a real estate agent, learn to knit, live in Greece

But recently I’ve noticed I have another category.  That’s the one I want to talk about.  It’s called ‘Things I feel I should do, for no apparent reason.‘  These are the things that everyone else seems to have seen or done, but I, inexplicably, have not. 

And just for the record, let me tell you up front that I’ve never read Harry Potter or Twilight, never seen the movies, and never, ever, EVER will.  Don’t even tell me I should.  Not a chance.

But a few of the others on my list…

-I’ve never seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Wizard of Oz, This is Spinal Tap, Rosemary’s Baby, or Citizen Kane.

-I’ve never watched Lost, The Amazing Race, Family Guy, Star Trek, Heroes, Bones, Prison Break, Doctor Who, Californication, Gossip Girl, 90210 or Melrose Place (original and re-launched versions).

-In addition to the aforementioned sagas that make me cringe, I’ve never read The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Da Vinci Code, A Million Little Pieces, or Tropic of Cancer.

-I’ve never heard a single song by the Grateful Dead.  I’m not even sure why.  My musical taste is all over the map and my knowledge is rather extensive, but they are a big one that’s always eluded me.

-I’ve never smoked pot.  Or tried any other illegal substances, for that matter.  Now this one doesn’t exactly fit on the ‘I should try this’ list, but it does seem to be an anomaly, since the vast majority of people I know have tried marijuana at some point or another.  I guess I ‘experienced’ my youth a little less than others.  Bible college will do that to ya.

-I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.  Dirt bikes sure, but street bikes scare me – too many idiots out there.

-I’ve never gone skydiving.  I really wish I’d done this before I had kids, because now I never will.

-I’ve never finished writing my book.  Or books, as the case may be.  I have 3 that need edited, and I hate editing so much I’d rather start from scratch than make the time to revise and seek a publisher.  Talk about lazy.

-I’ve never slept in line for anything.  I’m not sure why this has appeal for me, but it does.

-I’ve never bought a lottery ticket.  I often say “If I win the lottery…” but somehow I’m thinking that isn’t likely unless I first purchase a ticket.

I’m sure I have others, but those are the highlights.

So what’s on your list?