20 albums that changed my life.

Remember that Facebook meme that circulated about a gazillion years ago about 25 albums that changed your life? I had planned on zipping out the meme and posting it some Friday. Then I actually tried to think of 25 albums and realized I suck am much more of a song person. That must be it, because it took me forever to fill up even just 20 albums. So I changed the required number just so I could post this sometime before I died. In no particular order, I bring you:

20 Albums That Deeply Affected Who I Am.

1. Total Eclipse of the Heart (LP single) – Bonnie Tyler. This was the first record I owned. (Well, it is if you don’t count Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.) I remember buying the album at Stewart’s, or Fayre’s, or whatever the heck that store was at the time. I was 4-years-old and I listened to that record over and over and over again. Love at first listen, ’twas.
2. True Colors – Cyndi Lauper. I still know every singly word to every song on this album. I can still hear the opening 80′s notes of Change of Heart, the campiness of Maybe He’ll Know, and my old favorite Faraway Nearby.  I can’t remember who bought this for me that Christmas, but I do remember getting up early enough so I could play one side of the tape each morning before school.  It must have been true love to get me up even five minutes early. I wouldn’t do that now for chocolate, sex, or cold hard cash. (Well, maybe for cash. If there was enough of it.)
3. Automatic for the People – R.E.M. Aaaah. An old classic I could still listen to on an endless loop. This album makes me think of sitting on my bed during high school, having meaningful conversations with my sister and my best friend. “Nightswimming” will always be one of those songs that takes my breath away and brings me back, no matter how much time has passed.
4. Wildflowers – Tom Petty. This was the first Tom Petty album I ever owned. I’d been a fan for awhile, and when I saw he had a new album out, I bought it impulsively. Maybe it had (more than) a little to do with the fact that my crush was big into Petty, but it soon evolved into a for-real kind of appreciation. And even though I now legitimately name Petty as my favorite artist when pressed to choose someone (remember, I’m a song girl, not an artist or album kinda girl), Petty still holds the power to make me remember my former crush and he always will.
5. Slippery When Wet – Bon Jovi. Going back a ways again, this was probably the first “rock” band I felt in love with. My dad (who inspired All Things Music in my life and, well, really that was the only role he played) bought me two posters of Bon Jovi for me to put on my wall. I kissed them. Just because I thought you were supposed to. God, I can’t believe I thought he was dreamy with all that hair. But now? You want to instantly put me in a great mood, you put on one of these songs. I can’t help but smile (and regress).
6. Greatest Hits – Simon and Garfunkel. Yes, I’m following up Bon Jovi with Simon and Garfunkel. My tastes have always been eclectic. S&G was one of my mom’s faves. We would listen to their records whenever we could convince her to give Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond a break (which wasn’t often). The lonliness and love in “Sound of Silence” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water” respectively struck a chord again in high school. And then it stuck. Their Greatest Hits cd was the easiest way to hear all of my favorites together.
7. The Black Album – Metallica. I remember making fun of Michael Baldino in elementary school for saying Metallica was his favorite band. Then, all throughout junior high and high school (and maybe a good bit of college…and beyond), I couldn’t get enough. My high school sweetheart tried to talk me into naming our future baby boy James Hatfield – and the idea didn’t sound that bad. Metallica’s music is a bit too hard for me now, but listening to it opened me up to a whole new genre and this was the album that did it.
8. Nilsson Schmilsson – Harry Nilsson. This was my mom’s album, but my sister Kim and I were fascinated. My dad’s favorite, played during music appreciation nights, was “Put the Lime in the Coconut.” We thought that was hysterical and started requesting it from the first song. My mom’s was “The Moonbeam Song,” another great choice but somehow not the same. Still, the was the record that taught me that my parents maybe knew what they were talking about, musically speaking.
9. Boys for Pele – Tori Amos. My high school sweetheart bought this for me as a gift. I had no idea who Tori was, but he thought I liked her. His mistake was the start of my Tori-love and my fascination with singers who weren’t quite mainstream.
10. Purple – Stone Temple Pilots. This album really kicked off what I thought of as my WAAF days (the rock station of my high school days). My sister was the one who bought into STP first, and I remember it best playing through the shared wall of our rooms. Any song from this album will make me instantly stop channel-surfing in the car.
11. Immaculate Collection – Madonna. Another compilation album, but really, that was the best way to get the most for your money when you were but a poor child. (Heh, still works for me now that I’m a poor adult.) This tape played over and over and over. I’m not a big Madonna fan now, but this was one tape Kim and I could always agree on, and if we didn’t have music in common, who knows if we ever would have hung out?
12. Born in the U.S.A. – Bruce Springsteen. I almost claimed Slippery When Wet was the first rock album I owned, but it was this one. My dad bought it for me, just happy that he had passed on his love for rock. (Secret: When MTV was born, it was my dad who would sit for hours and watch music concerts and videos. He would call me into the room anytime The Boss came on.)
13. Mirrorball – Sarah McLachlan. Could I be a girl and not like this album? Okay, yeah I could, but I love it anyway. This album always reminds me I can be girly and sexy and me all-the-way-to-the-wall and still say SCREW YOU! love if things weren’t going my way. “…You’re such a beautiful, beautiful fucked up man…”
14. Hangin’ Tough – New Kids on the Block. I so much wanted to leave this confession out. But I can’t. Damn you, NKOTB. (Wow, and I may or may not have just danced all the moves from the video. So sad, really.)
15. Born on a Pirate Ship – Barenaked Ladies. You couldn’t be in my dorm room for any length of time without hearing this CD. I think my new carefree attitude has to credit Barenaked Ladies at least a little. I mean, who can listen to them without smiling and dancing?!
16. Greatest Hits – Tracey Lawrence. You can’t pick the albums that end up affecting your life. This certainly wouldn’t have made the list. But, the same year that I became infatuated with Barenaked Ladies, I was also listening to this. My roommate Audra (god I miss her) was into country music. We listened to this album constantly. And then I started adding some country music to my mix. I’m still a classic rock girl at heart, but I can appreciate some of the less twangy country music. And it all goes back to this.
17. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts’ Club Band – The Beatles. My dad bought this album for me for my eighth grade graduation. I thought it was pretty random at the time, but I was a Beatles addict the minute I started playing it.
18. Ode to my Family – The Cranberries. It’s (mostly) light and melodic (umm…except the song I linked). It’s a girl rocker. It’s something my sister would listen to. This got a lot of airplay during high school.
19. Sixteen Stone – Bush. One of the first CDs I bought. It was rock. My crush liked them. And “Everything Zen” was the first song I heard on WAAF. It was so edgy and just…us. After listening to it in the car with my friends, it was quickly added to the soundtrack of my teenage years.
20. Yes I Am – Melissa Etheridge. My best friend Julie Pickles was a die-hard Melissa Etheridge fan. Julie fancied herself a poet and with her I discovered the power of lyrics over as opposed to just finding something with a beat. No one understood unrequited love quite like Etheridge. This album is still in heavy rotation, 15 years later.

There you go. 20 albums that stand out above all the others. Some I’d rather hide in the dark of the night and never mention again…but I can’t deny that they helped shape me into the Crazy Lady I am today. Blame them, mkay?

The If Question about running the show.

Today is going to be a crazy, crazy day for me. Something big is going on at ThePlaceThatShallBeNamed and rumor has it that it’s going down today. A big kind of something that involves many, many people…and guess who the thread is that ties all the involved parties together? Yep. So what better to do than to ignore it a little while longer in favor of an If Question about running things? Ahem.

If you could run any institution, organization, or company in the world, which would you choose?

This question was really easy for me (not that I thought of a single answer – don’t be ridiculous!). Two answers immediately came to mind and I’m pretty sure I could never, ever, ever think of a better one, no matter how long I thought about it.

My very first thought was that I would run the Make-a-Wish Foundation. Yes, I would probably have to hook up the anti-depressants on an IV-drip, because how could you deal with such sad realities day in and day out and not have it affect you? But the work would be so worth it. I would feel like I was actually making a difference not just in one or two peoples’ lives, but so many. I would make a difference in this world, bringing happiness to those who need it most.

My other thought was so far apart from my first thought, something so gratuitous that I’m almost ashamed now…. I would run the NFL. We all know I live and breathe professional football. As the Commish, I would get great seats at any game I cared to see, I could hire some refs who actually know what they’re doing, and I could actually enforce some much needed rules. No, I’m not talking about even stricter penalties for playing the game we ask them to play. I’m talking about keeping people off the field who don’t deserve to be there (I’m looking at you, Michael Vick), demanding the players be role models instead of whiny babies (T.O. – shut up and do what God created you to do: play)(Also? Still looking at you Michael Vick), and I would come up with things like, oh, I don’t know, pension and health care. (Sheesh, what am I, campaigning for something?) What a fun job this would be!

So there are two answers for this week’s If Question, a fun one and a moral one. What would YOU do if given the world to use as your own personal yo-yo?

Love brings the MagicBack!

Remember when we were little and the summer held nothing but promises of freedom? The school year would creep sloooooowly closer and then, finally, suddenly, you were free from school and rules and constraints (until your mom called you in when the streetlights came on, at least).

 

Remember how summer beckoned us as teenagers, with thoughts of later curfews and countless parties with our friends? When at least one of you already had her license and you drove aimlessly around the city, stopping only for ice cream or 24-hour Dunkin’ Donuts?

 

Summer just feels like it should have that magical something about it. That’s been missing for a few years and I’ve felt it keenly. I really missed the magic when I grew up, got a job, and lost the summer-long vacations away from responsibility. (Real jobs should invest in summer vacations, no?) I don’t quite get the season-long vacation this year, but I do get to flip-flop the custody arrangement during July. And my partner-in-crime does happen to own a very nice pool. And a grill. And a patio-couch straight out of an ad for Target. Last Sunday, she twisted my arm and made me come over and lounge by the pool. Then she fed me grilled hamburgers and made me a mimosa. It was lovely fan-freaking-incredible!

 

Guess what? The magic is back. If you need me in July, I will be lounging by Crisanna’s pool. Or possibly in her picture-perfect living room, watching a TV so enormously huge that now I couldn’t break up with her even if I wanted to. By pure coincidence, she just procured a cable to connect her laptop to said-gigantic TV. We might never leave. In fact, my goal might be to call up QI on the computer and make her watch it until she pees her pants with laughter. And that excitement of magic-to-come? That suits me and my summery ways just fine! Happy Love Thursday, everyone! May you find a little something today to put the spring back in your step!

Will I ever learn? (No, not really.)

Because my blog has become All Sunburn, All the Time, I needed to share: my nose started peeling yesterday. And I? I am one of those really weird people who enjoys peeling that crap right the heck off. In fact, there may have been one time, back when we were teens that my sister got really, really burnt on her back. I patiently waited until she started to peel and then made her sit on the floor in front of me as I peeled her. When she whimpered, I smacked her on the shoulders and chided her that if the skin wasn’t ready to come off, it wouldn’t. (You’re welcome! For sharing!)

So. Anyway. Yesterday my nose started peeling. And it looked horrible. It wasn’t delicate, discreet peeling. Nope. It was the kind you couldn’t even try to hide. Believe me – I tried. So I’d try to “fix” it throughout the day, but just making it worse really. When I got home, I scrubbed that sucker. I peeled everything that would peel. And then my nose turned about a billion shades redder than it was because my skin is new and raw. Awesome.

Do you think I learned my lesson?

My chest – my horrifically, dazzlingly, mind-blisteringly burnt chest – started peeling this morning. Just a small crack. By mid-morning there were a few patches. By afternoon, the entire top part of my chest was fair game. Thankfully, I’ve worn really high-necked shirts to keep the horror that is my chest away from peoples’ line of vision. All day I lectured myself to leave it alone. It would hurt. The skin would be redder. It would hurt. Oh, and IT WOULD HURT. I finally was able to sleep all night on my chest last night for the first time since Thursday – I didn’t want to go back to back-sleeping, did I?

My only defense is that I simply can’t help myself. I can’t. I’m a horrible, horrible person. But do you think I’ll peel after burning in hell?

School uniforms will be the death of me.

I have a bit of dilemma. (You in the back – hushyourmouth! I do NOT have them every day!)

This dilemma of mine needs to be solved rather quickly because I’m going to have to bring it to the Ex’s attention rather soon and I’d like to know where I stand before I argue one way or the other with the Ex. (I’m just guessing there will be arguing involved.)

My dilemma is such: Gracie is starting kindergarten this August (annnnnd commence freak-out!). The plan was to let her go to our local elementary school and then transfer in junior high/high school to (the better) school district down the street where her dad lives. Advantages to going to the local elementary: She will make friends in her elementary school who actually live near us instead of across the city; she will go to school with some kids from the neighborhood she already knows; the school is on my way to daycare instead of twenty minutes (each way) out of my way; she can catch the bus from daycare if I decide to utilize the before and after care program at her daycare, which would eliminate the question of how she gets to before-/after-care.

So that was the plan. The Ex and I talked about it briefly during divorce discussions, but guess what? He’s conveniently forgotten all about that! The Ex gave me some paperwork a few weeks back about kindergarten enrollment for TownNextDoor. I didn’t want to deal with the arguing right then, so I took the paperwork without a word and let the matter fall from my mind.

Then, about a week ago, I looked up the registration information for our local school and discovered our local school district has a dress code. Our local PUBLIC school district. Has a dress code. Why aren’t more parents freaking out about this?! Yeah, yeah, they help children focus on school work (maybe), but that is just theoretical, I don’t think you can force kids who aren’t going to do very well to learn just because they’re wearing a blue shirt, and if you’re going to force my child to attend school, I don’t think you should be able to force them to wear a certain outfit in order to attend said school. Really, that’s what this boils down to for me: the school district decides something is better (in theory) and then forces me to pay for their decision. It’s an unfunded mandate! I have to purchase an entire second wardrobe for Gracie. Blue or white polos, turtlenecks or sweaters and blue dress pants, khakis, or jeans. I don’t have the money to do that. If school dress is inappropriate, send the kid home! Make the parents parent! An obscene idea, I know. Don’t punish the rest of us because other people’s children are dressing like punks and whores.

To complicate matters (you didn’t think it ended there, did you?) The school district in the TownNextDoor doesn’t have a dress code. I can use the Ex’s address to send her there. Advantages: The Ex would be happy; I wouldn’t have to buy a second wardrobe; Gracie would be in the same school (if not the same class) as her cousin (whose parents aren’t talking to me); Gracie wouldn’t have to switch school districts at the same time she’s entering the horrors known as junior high.

So there’s the crux of the dilemma. There’s a lot more to say – and I’m sure I’ll explore most of it eventually – but right now my immediate anxiety is over the cost and ridiculousness of the PUBLIC school forcing me to buy a second wardrobe for my five-year-old. I could ask the Ex to fund half of the expenses, but I can just see him refusing since he didn’t get his way.

Another totally shallow consideration if it helps any of you decide for me: TownNextDoor is holding kindergarten registration on my birthday, so I won’t be able to go out of town, should any offers come up. (Hey, I warned you it was shallow.)

What’s a girl to do?

The postlet about sunburns that no one will care about ‘cept me.

Last night I was able to sleep on my stomach for about twenty minutes without my sunburn making me cry for my mama. I’m a stomach-sleeper. I haven’t gone so many days without sleeping on my stomach since I was pregnant OutToHere. Carefully postitioning myself on my stomach so my boobs didn’t smash my sunburnt skin, so none of the burnt skin stretched or gathered or breathed…I managed it somehow through sheer will.

It was heaven.

Maybe one more mimosa before I grow up again.

I don’t know that I have the strength left to type a blog, so if I sort of peter out in the middle, it’s because I’m slumped over my keyboard, sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly exhausted.

What a weekend.

I’m sure it wasn’t all that remarkable to most of you – those of you who are single, or without children, or possess inexhaustible energy. Not this girl. I’m not to used to sustaining the levels of fun that I enjoyed all. weekend. long. There was the boat ride on Friday, followed by two parties and a rescue mission on Saturday, spending a half hour at home on Sunday before going for mimosas by Crisanna’s pool (the After-After party), and then watching Amanda’s beautiful little baby yesterday afternoon while she and her husband went to the ballgame. In between, I made homemade dip, macaroni salad, gooey squares (baked s’mores), and homemade lasagna. I am tired, yo.

Surprisingly (or not), watching the newborn was the easiest part – by far! I was so honored that Amanda and her husband chose to leave her for the first time in my care. Let me tell you – the pressure was on! I can’t believe someone who reads about the death and destruction adventures in parenting I write about in my blog would voluntarily leave her first-born child in my care all afternoon, but, well there you have it. The baby did her part to make it easy – she fussed once. Once. And that was only because I chose to pee at the exact time she wanted her bottle. (Hey, my kids might be 3 and 5, but I haven’t lost my touch; impeccable timing is still there.) In fact, Sweet Baby Girl was so nice to me, I even contemplated trying to convince Amanda to switch kids…but then I remembered I just finished potty training Bee not that long ago. So. Maybe we’ll hold off on the trade negotiations for a few years.

Know what else surprised me about having Sweet Baby Girl around for the day? I expected to get the Baby Itchies and I didn’t. I felt incredibly comfortable – like the seasoned pro Amanda keeps calling me – but I didn’t have to temper the baby fever like I was afraid would happen. I’ve always wanted three babies and I had a really hard time coming to terms with the fact that I would never have a baby boy when my Ex and I failed at our marriage. I have my two beautiful girls and that’s it. That was difficult for me. I was afraid having a baby in my arms would bubble those feelings back to the surface…and then I would have to go through that difficult and painful task of popping those particular bubbles again.

But they never came. I enjoyed Sweet Baby Girl and my heart melted to a puddle of goo when she smiled and gurgled at me instead of drinking her bottle. I would happily watch her for days and days if I could ever convince Amanda to uh, I don’t know, go to a really long movie or something. But I was still okay with letting Sweet Baby Girl go home. Guess I’m really growing into my new life. How I managed to learn that after such a fabulously fun, crazy busy and somehow relaxing weekend is beyond me, but I’ll take it!

A one-sided list about sunburns.

Things that hurt my sunburn:

…rubbing my nose…wearing a shirt…touching my skin…my shirt rubbing against my chest…moving…sunshine…heat… trying to mow the grass…stirring macaroni salad together…raising my arms above my head…taking a shower… soapsuds from the shampoo running across my burn…hot water running over my burn…cold water running over my burn…looking at it the wrong way…sleeping on my side…sleeping on my stomach…sneezing…putting on sunblock to sip mimosas by the pool…scraping off two days’ worth of aloe buildup and sunblock grit…driving with my seat belt on.

Things that don’t hurt my sunburn:

…very lightly rubbing globs of aloe on my burn…blowing cool air on it…standing in the air conditioning…holding my friend’s newborn baby (okay, that did hurt it, but it was sooooo worth it)…sipping mimosas by the pool with my neckline pulled up to my ears…sitting very, very still under the ceiling fan.

A raccoon. A very crispy raccoon.

I am stupid. Very, very stupid.

Friday we were released early from ThePlaceThatShallNotBeDiscussed in honor of the holiday weekend. Some people who may or may not work there may or may not own a boat. And my co-worker (let’s call her J.)  and I may or may not have been told we were boating with them after work. Let’s just assume that was the case.

First of all – don’t you think that’s a little weird? Don’t get the wrong idea – I’ve known these two (hypothetical) guys for years and they’re harmless. I’ve gone to Happy Hours after work with them and other co-workers. I attend the occasional party at their houses. It’s just that it was going to be these two guys, a step-son (who was about the same age as J. and I, more or less), and that’s it. The wives weren’t going. I thought that was a little odd, that they would be given permission to take two young, hot women out on the lake and their wives were okay with that. Maybe I’m missing something here. Or maybe I’m just not giving my girl-next-door persona enough credit. But I know I would have been the slightest bit incredulous if my Insignificant Other had told me he and a buddy were taking two hot young things out on the lake. So. There was that weirdness factor.

Then, there was the whole ‘ride on a boat’ factor. If you remember, getting a boat ride on the open seas lake was one of my Changerous Things To Do. Of course, that doesn’t mean I did anything about it, even though I was supposed to. My Insignificant Other’s best buddy has a boat…but last summer was when my IO and I had just started dating seeing each other and I really didn’t feel comfortable inviting myself out. (Come to think of it, I still don’t feel comfortable inviting myself. It’s just one of those things I don’t believe in. Unless you’re my siblings or Crisanna. Then I’ll totally invite myself.) I’ve lost the point. Oh! There it is! The point is that I hate boats. I get seasick. I hate going under water, so “playing” in the lake isn’t a big attraction. I get seasick. I haven’t been on a boat since I was eight, so I have no idea what to do or what boat etiquette calls for. Oh, and have I mentioned I get seasick? Throwing up on the boat (or the water? should I aim overboard?) and in front of guys I may or may not work with isn’t up there on my list of Changerous Things, surprisingly.

So there was all that. Plus the circumstances. Oh and then there was the idea of being in our bathing suits in front of older men with whom we may or may not work. Yeah. J and I spent a good portion of Thursday, Thursday night, and Friday talking about that minor detail. At least J., who grew up in Texas and has done the whole ‘summers on the lake’ experience knew what she should plan for. I had no idea whether to even bring a purse. Finally, I settled on a small purse that I didn’t mind getting wet, with bare essentials only. For me, the Insignificant Other dutifully helped me choose between bathing suits (we chose the new one), with long jean shorts and a black vneck tshirt from Old Navy that was seriously cut down to my belly button; it’s really not good for anything other than wearing it over a bathing suit.

That was it. The circumstances. The bathing suit issues. And the whole ‘I’m on a boat!’ thing. And after all that worrying? There was nothing weird about it! True, I almost fell flat on my face when one of the guys assisted me into the boat. And I had one small lurch in my stomach and the little speed boat crashed over someone’s wake. Other than that? All I can say is: I need a boat. I had a BLAST!!! The guys took turns showing off on the wakeboard and the skis. We drifted, we raced, and by the end of the ride J. and I enjoyed our perches in the front of the boat enjoying the “ride” as the lake got more crowded and the waters a little choppy. Either Dramamine really is magic, or else I really need to shut up and try some more things. Life? It is wonderful.

Except. Except remember that little thing I mentioned at the beginning of the post? About how I am stupid? I am. I am very, very, very stupid. Wanna know why? I have very delicate skin. Knowing me, as I do, I slathered on the sunscreen before we had even left the slip, while the sun was still hiding behind the clouds. I even reapplied. Except…I didn’t reapply over the Ladies in front of the guys. My chest? Is tomato red, because I am apparently a delicate flower who cannot be out longer than ten minutes without getting burnt to a crisp. My arms are slightly pink in some places, burnt through two applications of sunblock – except for my wrist, which has a nice white line where my hair elastic was. The rest of the wrist is pretty burnt. The best part is my face. I slathered on the sunscreen…except I must not have reapplied to my nose because it’s almost as bad as my chest. My eyelids are burnt. The sides of my face just under the arms of my glasses are burnt. Yeah, so there’s the connection to the raccoon. I am one – only my mask is red instead of black. I have an honest-to-goodness line across the top of my nose, running from eyebrow to eyebrow. South of the line is bright red, north is lily white. Until you get to my hair line. Then it’s burnt again.

Yes, I need me a boat. And some SPF 500.

The If Question with all the personality.

As promised, the If Question I had all penned out for yesterday, but then replaced with a guest post from my very lovely sister. I was going to post my adventures in boating – including a very, very stupid mistake I made – but you will just have to wait until tomorrow for that. I have a party with my girlfriends and then a rescue mission I must attend to. With that…the If Question.

If you could ensure that your children had one personality trait, which would you choose?

My first answer off the top of my head: smart. I want my kids to be smart almost more than anything. I don’t want them to struggle in school (well, maybe just enough to keep them honest, enough to teach them how to study, enough to make them think). I don’t want them to be without common sense (yes, I realize these are two separate things). I want my girls to have the tools to go far, to earn enough money, to have a chance to do many things and meet different people. Being smart gives them so many opportunities and a fair shot at making the right choices.

But…being smart isn’t everything. It’s just the tools, not necessarily the where-with-all. So maybe I’d pick hard-working. The girls could make just as lovely a life if they were willing to put a lot of hours or elbow-grease into earning some money and providing for their family. Hard work and determination would see them and their families through some tough times. They wouldn’t be lazy and slough everything off like I do – and look where I landed us. A perpetually dirty house cluttered with half-finished projects.

Then again, what is a house without laughter? Maybe I would choose that they be blessed with a good sense of humor. I need to know that my girls will be happy people and spread sunshine wherever they go. Otherwise, what will make up for all the tantrums they like to throw? Oh, I kid. (See? So helpful that sense of humor!)

But I don’t want class clowns who don’t do their work and bully others. So maybe I should really give them compassion for their freebie personality trait. They would love and be loved and I wouldn’t have to worry that they had behaved themselves.

Oh! All these choices. And the pressure! The If Question isn’t supposed to be about pressure! It’s supposed to be about blogging without Thinking Too Much for the love of gosh! (I never was good at that Not Thinking Too Much bit.) So….I’ll go with….(closing my eyes and randomly-but-not-really choosing)… Smart. I’d like them to be wicked smart. Smarter than me, even. (Why the heck not? They’re going to think it’s true, either way. Might as well get something out of it.) I can maybe train them to be hard-workers if they’re not. Choosing a trait, after all, doesn’t mean they’re necessarily precluded from having the rest. It’s just that I can only BE SURE they get one of these. You know – in my pretend little game.