So I wrote that lengthy, rambling, “I’m going to think deep thoughts”-y post.

And immediately after I hit “publish,” I regretted it. Why is it I always do that when I’m not writing something chipper and witty? I dunno. But, so be it. That’s how it always is. Oh well.

The next morning,

[Wait, let me say this--once again, please do not look at what time it was when that post was written. I've thought about changing the post times on some of these posts before I hit publish, but then I remember that wouldn't exactly be honest. So for the sake of honesty, I admit my late hours for the world to see.]

Was I saying something?

Oh yes, “the next morning…”

Well, the next morning I was talking on the phone to my mom as she was driving.

[Oh, and let me say this, too--if you've been reading her blog, or you've clicked over there from the thumbnail in my H&H Design box, and you use anything beside Internet Explorer on a PC, please don't think that was the way I intended that design to look. Ugh. I'm hitting my head on my desk coffee table due to my ridiculous inexperience and assumption that everything looks the same in all browsers. Last night I downloaded several other browsers on my other computer to check designs... and was horrified. But anyway. This is not the point of this post. There is already a whole post about this topic.]

So, now that we’re back on the right path after chasing several rabbits… I was talking to my mom and she said she’d read that post, but hadn’t had time to comment right then. (Who would? It takes ten years to scroll down to end.)

And then she laughed and said, You know that one part? What you said in the beginning about:


Combination of perfectionist and lackadaisical that I am, I would often
end up in tears when I saw the red circles around letters I’d written
sloppily.

Well, it turned out she imagined people reading this and thinking, “YIKES!! Homeschooling mom with red pen who expects perfection!!!!”

But for the record, peeps, let me tell you–that is not what my homeschooling mom is like. She did use a red pen sometimes, but she also used pink, and purple, and blue and green. And she put cute little stamps or stickers at the top of our pages that read, “Way to go!” or “Good Work!” or “100%!” or “Good try!”

And those times I’d end up in tears? This is about how it would go:

Mom: Okay, Ash, let’s look over your penmanship work from yesterday.
Look at how great these capital cursive “G’s” are! You did so good! I like the
way you start them out with that extra little curlicue there. So pretty. Now,
baby girl, let’s look at the lower-case “g’s“. You started out nicely, and then,
see right here, you started getting a little sloppy with the tails. They really
shouldn’t be quite as wide as the top of the “g.” And see, they give you a
whole line to make those ten “g’s,” so you can take up the whole line,
instead of scrunching all the letters in the first inch. Here, let’s try some
together on the end of the line. There you go. Good job, baby girl!

Me: [dramatically] Okay, Mommy. I’m sorry I’m such a terrible daughter. I
should have done this better. I’m sorry for ruining your life. [and then
the tears would start to flow. And flow. And flow.]

Poor Mom.

And to think, she kept homeschooling. And she’s still at it… in her sixteenth year, even.

Now, given all that drama, is it any surprise to you that I talked constantly, a la Anne Shirley? Of course not.

Which is why my mom laughed even more and said, And then that other part? Where you said:


But now that I had someone [my new husband] who would listen to my
ongoing and endless ramblings about life and such, I rarely wrote much about it on paper anymore.

Oh, yeah, that part. What I intended to convey was the fact that now my poor new husband had NO CHOICE but to sit and listen to me for hours upon hours as I rambled on about everything and nothing, and so I didn’t write in my journal as much.

What I did not intend to convey was the fact that my feelings had been suppressed for all of my sad and lonely existence, and that nobody, nobody (sniff, sniff) ever listened to me, and that my family had just ignored me for so long, forcing me to express all my deep and wonderful thoughts in paper journals, and that, glory be! NOW I was finally free to share my heart!

The truth is my poor family had spent probably three-fourths of their own waking lives listening to me go on, and on, and on, and on about everything under the sun. And the other truth? When John married me and whisked me a whole half hour away from them and took upon himself the weight of my constant, long-winded chatter, there was a bit of, “Whew… what is this? Quiet? Is THIS what quiet is like? Huh. Interesting.” in my childhood home.

So, after our good laugh on the phone, I said, “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry I’m such a terrible daughter. I’m sorry for ruining your life…”

Okay, so not really. But we did laugh our heads off for a bit… another thing we’ve been doing since the drama-filled-days of third grade. We’re quite the pair, oh yes we are.

Oh, and one more thing–if this seems totally off-the-wall and random and you are now even more certain that we are complete WACKS, be assurred. We are. But, hey, WE are totally cracking up right now, so just humor us and laugh along.

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