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Memed--or The Further Adventures of Kidult.

My daughter is back and school. I’m proud of her, but I miss her. I chuckle as I write this because as much as I miss her and couldn’t wait for her to get home, I couldn’t’ wait for her to go back. Certainly, there is wonder in watching a girl grow into womanhood. Just as I was filled with pride when she took her first steps, I am happy for her and scream (inside) “I did that!” as she conquers the challenges in her life. Alas, there is also pain in watching someone as strong-willed as my daughter ( where’d she get that from!) grow and learn to accept and love herself as she blossoms into womanhood—in my space!
We text every day (at the very least). Sometimes, we call each other. She calls for advice, to chat or just to have an ear to listen as she works out her problems. Our texts are like an on-going conversation—until I make her mad and she stops responding.
I challenge her and find that I can’t help myself. It’s what I do. The other day, though, I was beyond myself as I review one…
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Sarees over Sneakers

This past week, I challenged myself to not slip into any pair of jeans. Instead, I was going to explore the side of my closet that holds all the dresses and skirts. As it turns out, I have a lot, and I only seem to wear them to church or when I am going out to somewhere other than work. Since I keep telling myself that if I haven’t worn it in a year it has to go, it makes no sense to have a bunch of things that are about to turn into closet-pumpkins. Rather than throw them out, I’d decided to attempt to wear them, and hence reset their termination clock.
While contemplating what shoes went with my skirt, for some reason, I remembered my fourth grade teacher. She ‘d worn dresses every day, or at least, a sort of dress. I can’t remember her name at all, or the details of her face, but what I do remember is that she’d worn a saree every day of the school year.
Her sarees were beautiful. And flowy. They were flowy and flowery in the winter, when other people were wrapped…
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There is no Try

I’ve never been fond on New Year’s resolutions, and hence don’t make them. If you want to start or change, just do it. Or at least try to; it doesn’t matter what month it is. I do believe that January is a good time for reflection (but I suppose any day will do).

This afternoon, I found myself driving down the street in my car that is new enough to be considered a Christmas present even though I started driving it before Christmas, and was keenly aware that tomorrow I have to go back to work. Tired of mumble rap and other music with its misogynist lyrics, I had Bob Marley playing in the background. I’d enjoyed the time off at the end of the year, using it to pause and spend time with family but I didn’t for one minute begrudge that I have to go to work tomorrow. In my daytime life, I have a great job that many would consider sexy and amazing. I thought of my father and how proud he would be of me (of course this is in the movie inside my head; he’s been dead almost 25 years. Th…
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