Much Ado About the Mundane

Forewarning: this post is for my friend Kim, who said she was worried about me because we haven't talked a lot this past week. And she checked my blog and saw that I hadn't posted much. So she prayed for me. Because she figured my kids were sick.

My kids aren't sick. And nothing is wrong. We've just been busy. But at the same time, nothing really exciting is going on.

The kids haven't said anything particularly fun or silly for me to share. And since last week, I haven't had any Bible-upside-my-head moments either.

Still, this is for Kim (and anyone else who wants to slog through reading it.). A post about the little nothing things that can happen in a day.


I went to Wal-mart. All boring stories start at Wal-mart, don't they?

I was on a mission. To buy a birthday present for a soon-to-be 9-year-old boy. And I thought I might pick up a DVD of a yoga workout.

Not just any yoga workout though. I like to consider the source. I don't want some guru trying to fill my head with Zen junk. My mind doesn't need to be expanded. I'm more interested in becoming stretchier in some place other than the skin on my belly. Flexibility in my legs was my goal.

Did you know that Wal-mart no longer stocks exercise DVDs? Now what am I supposed to do when I feel guilty about not exercising, but I'm not quite ready to commit to the no-pain, no-gain philosophy? Passing that section made me feel like I was almost ready. And it sometimes kept me from buying Hot Tamales and Twizzlers during my bi-monthly grocery shopping.

I didn't have any luck in finding a birthday present for Clay's friend either. What do 9-year-old boys want? After searching through the toy section, I decided cash would work.

But I needed a card in which to place the cash. Coincidentally, I had a list of all extended family member birthdays in my pocket. I went to peruse the card aisles.

But today, three was not a charm. The "three strikes and you're out" theory was in full force today. No DVD. No birthday gift. And no decent birthday cards.

Birthday card writers irritate me. Maybe that's what I need to do when I go back to work. Foist myself upon Hallmark.

Every single card sounded like it was for some mythical perfect family.

"You are the best brother ever. I always wanted to be just like you."

"You are the sweetest niece ever. You just shine on others around you."

"You are the greatest sister-in-law ever. I couldn't have picked someone better myself."

Where are all the cards for people who deal in dysfunction? It is nearly painful to find a card that isn't chock-full of trite compliments.

So I bought a pack of blank cards. And I'm going to write my own cards.

They'll say something like this:

"Big brother, remember when you were going through that punching phase and my friends and teachers wondered if our parents were abusing me because of the bruises on my arms? Good times! I love you. Have a great birthday."

"Little brother, I'm so glad we've grown past the point of me locking you in our second-story kitchen and not letting you out until you drank the entire, full, carton of milk from which you had just sipped instead of pouring your drink in a glass like civilized people do. Have I ever apologized for almost making you puke? I love you. Have a happy birthday."

I can even do one for Bruce and his brothers.

"Isn't is wonderful that neither of us owns a cat for a pet after that time we decapitated the one who was so fast we couldn't shut the door quickly enough to keep him out... until that last attempt where we got it half right. Oh well. We're dog people anyway. Have a super birthday."

See. That's how a card should be written. It still has all the love. It's just more real.

That's right. When you care enough to send, if not the best, at least the most honest.

You can contact my agent if you'd like to hire me. (Um, I'm my own agent. Just so you know.)