Talking with your mouth full

In the whirlwind of work and kids and hobby and bills and, and, and… we too often forget to stop and enjoy life’s little moments—like the crunch of snow under our feet. We don’t notice the little kid in the store that would have, should have, made us giggle—or at least smile. I’ve talked about memories and age and parents and grandparents and told you all to go make memories and call your family members. Today we’re looking the other way…today it’s all about “lighten up!”

“Age is a state of mind.”  “You’re only as old as you feel.”  And countless other sayings hint at the tip of the iceberg I’m standing on. Sure there’s a time to be a grown up, but you should also take a moment to throw caution to the wind, jump up and down on the bed with your daughter, sing horrible teeny-bopper songs at the top of your lungs using whatever is handy as a microphone. You should lay in the bare grass [when it’s NOT 10 below] and watch a bug as it struggles to climb a leaf. You should chase fireflies when those around you are having a serious conversation. You should remember to be alive, feel alive, and enjoy those little moments. Yeah, yeah, they can’t be all the time, but they can be enough.

Some happy moments come with treasure. Treasure them! A sweet thought scribbled on a post-it in a package should not be thrown out. It should be kept, either somewhere private for your own smiles when you need, or hey, right on the wall so that you see it every time you leave the room. Yes, I have a little collection of things taped to my wall… be careful what you say to me, you could become part of the collage.

Sing in the shower, sing in the car, or hell, sing while you’re cooking dinner. And hey, when you’re done, you could keep singing all the way through the meal. We did this last weekend and it made me start thinking about those silly whims that we are told, or forced, to grow out of… why?  My grandmother turned 90 last summer and was given 90 roses by my cousin. Her moment of whimsy? Sticking one in her mouth and doing the sexy tango pose for me and my camera. Because you’re never too old to tango…

When was the last time you did something whimsical? If you don’t remember, it’s been too long. Grab a rose. Come on over to the dark side!

0 Responses to Talking with your mouth full

  • Joseph Mulak says:

    Good timing with this. I really needed to hear that today. My birthday is coming up soon, and it’s always a depressing time for me. I keep thinking of how many years of my life is wasted. I’m at the point where I feel old. I’m on my second marriage, I have four kids who are growing up so fast I can’t keep up. I keep wondering if persuing becoming a writer is what I should be doing, after years and years of rejection, I wonder if it’ll ever happen. But, that blog was very inspiring to hear. Thank you very much for writing it. It made my night.

  • Kelli says:

    Well thank you, and you’re welcome… If it helps: I’ll be 40 in March, I just ended my 16 year marriage, and my kids are so grownup already I wonder where their childhood went. I hear what you’re saying… now heed my words: go blow bubbles with those kids—no matter how old they are! =))

  • Bob Ford says:

    Although for some reason I have been acting like a 9-year old most of the time lately, the last whimsical thing I did that pushed both my kids and myself to laughing to the point of tears was at the dinner table. My daughter gets my twisted sense of humor on all levels, and she’d gotten it into her head, for whatever reason, to figure out how her brother’s name would be pronounced backwards. So… Carson became Nosrac. I feigned surprise and shock at this word and proceeded to tell them, in a deadpan serious voice, the “definition” of Nosrac.

    That it was a small nostril hair that has impaled a booger.

    This made my son wrinkle his face and my daughter nearly snarfed milk from her nose, moving on to laugh so hard that tears drifted down her cheeks. It was contagious and I caught what she had badly.

    After that, she continued with her name backwards. Chloe became Eolhc (a bit tougher to come up with how to pronounce, but she pulled it off). Eolhc, I explained to her, was the smallest turd that exited from a cow while it stood in the pasture.

    Now it was her brother’s turn to get a case of the giggle fits. We sat there in hysterics, dinner being ignored, bellies aching and our hearts full of light.

    It was a good time, and another Moving Polaroid for me to keep. =)

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