I might tell you that I just wiped off my daughters soother and stuck it in her mouth.
I might tell you that I share a shower, frequently, with any variety of dead bugs. I let them stay in their corner as long as they don’t bother me in mine. Eventually I do clean them out, but I consider it an exercise in thirdworliness to let them be for a few days. That and I hate cleaning the shower. I accidentally drank a moth the other day too. That freaked me out. I spit the moth out, and then I finished the glass of water. What can I say? I don’t like to see water go to waste here.
I might tell you that we seem to have a little cat that comes in our kitchen window several nights a week and wanders around on my kitchen counters. I know he/she’s been there because I see little kitty prints. This would have disgusted me before but I figure that it can hang out all it wants if it’s willing to be active in reducing the mouse population.
I might tell you that I like to watch the Bachelor online. I know that it’s trash TV but I still like to watch it. I endure the harassment and comments about the fact that it is trash TV from my husband. I remind him that as he’s sharing his very valid thoughts and opinions with me he’s playing video games where he shoots things, steals cars and breaks into buildings. Nuf said.
I might tell you that one of the things that makes me laugh hysterically is when Chris does his little hip dance. I can’t go into further detail because I might end up sleeping on the couch.
I might tell you that I like to talk in funny voices. And, that I talk to myself. A lot. Not always in funny voices.
I might tell you that I sometimes feel scared of interacting with people here. I don’t know why. I felt scared of interacting with people back in Canada too. I would chalk this up to being shy more than anything. Those that know me would laugh at me because they tend to see the “Leslie, you don’t need to talk so loud!” side of me. They forget that I was scared of them at one point too.
I might tell you that most of the people that read this AREN’T family and friends. They don’t seem to think it important enough to check in on the mundane happenings of my life. My mother took a good two years to finally get into the habit of checking the blog regularly. I finally refused to write her any more emails until she started checking the blog because I was tired of writing the same thing over and over again. My father, who just learned how to actually send email in the last year and a half was way ahead of her and had been checking the blog on the sly. Now that I’ve told you this they’ll probably disown me. Okay, not really. Well, maybe.
I might tell you that my mother prints off every email and blog post that I write. I find this silly and endearing at the same time. She also saves every card given to her. My brother and I have already told her that she has to get rid of all of them before she goes in a home because we won’t keep the “nice words”. My parents are 52 and 59 and use their youngness as a bargaining chip. My brother is the one that threatens them with the home way more than I do. This is strategic on my part, partly because I’m too far away for them to take my threats seriously, and partly because I like being seen as “the good kid”, which I of course remind them of often. I know this will come in handy when it comes time to hand out the inheritance.
I might tell you that after reading the last two paragraphs my mom is probably holding her hand over her mouth in her special little way because she’s laughing so hard. My dad is probably wiping his eyes because he does this silent cry thing when he laughs too hard. The fact that I just pegged their reactions will have them laughing even harder and my dad is probably calling me names that I can’t repeat here. They really are terms of endearment though. Really.
I might tell you that knowing the above about my parents makes me want to cry because I miss them a lot right now.
I might tell you that blogging sometimes makes me feel like a people pleaser because I know that people come here to read things and they have expectations when they do. The more people that I know are reading this the more I feel like I have to perform.
I might tell you that having someone say, “Hey, I read your blog!” is both flattering (very) and terrifying at the same time. The first thing that runs through my head after that is “Great, what did I write about recently??!?”
I might tell you that the funniest “I read your blog!” experience that I’ve had was when a friend here in Haiti was visiting last summer and they said, “Oh yeah! So and so that I work with was at a conference in Toronto and a lady came up to her and said, “Hey, tell Leslie that I read her blog!”” I have never met So and So. I have never met the Toronto reader. It reminded me of every time someone finds out I’m from Canada and says, “Oh, do you know my great aunts cousin’s brother in Toronto (because everyones great aunt’s counsin’s brother comes from Toronto. I don’t know why, this is just the way it is.)?” and I have to say “No.” For the record, Canada is the second largest country in the world. We have a lot of land mass. I live on one side of it. Far away from Toronto. The above Toronto reader story was actually funny because Haiti is not large, unlike Canada, and So and So could actually say, “Yeah, I’ll let her know!” with confidence. Crazy.
I might tell you that I sometimes wish I could take a few days away, by myself, where I could go back to the first world, drink coffee in a coffee shop, go shopping, get a pedicure and a massage, and not have to cook dinner or any meal for that matter. Then I come back to reality and remember that I could never afford to do all of those things in one day.
I might tell you that we’re getting a new volunteer in a month an a half and it has me feeling all anxious. Not because I think he’s going to be weird. I mean, he might be. I don’t know. It’s not because I have an extra person to feed etc. Whatever, one more mouth, no problem. It’s because we’re all going to be living in the same house for several weeks and Chris and I have lived by ourselves for the last TWO YEARS. I have no idea what freakish things we do that we think are normal but someone from the outside might thin are completely not normal. I’m afraid we’re going to scare him away. That would be bad. I want him to like us. Really like us. Sigh.
I might tell you that I really like sarcasm. No really, I do.
I might tell you that I hate it when people judge me. It makes me feel all defensive. I hate feeling defensive. I always think of things I’d like to say back, but I never say them. I’m just too reasonable. Sometimes I think it would be incredibly liberating to just spout off, but again, I’m just too reasonable.
I might tell you that as of tomorrow it is exactly two months until I turn 30. Yes, 30. Until today that fact was not bothering me, and then WHAM! It hit me like a ton of bricks. 30 is a whole new decade. I’m not sure if I’m ready to enter a new decade.
I might tell you that I love that my husband is a bit of a geek. I love that he’s so smart and always thinking about so many things. I love that he likes to tell me about them even though most of the time it enters my brain as “Whah, whah, whah, whah…” simply because I can’t track with him. Just to give you a frame of reference he JUST told me all about this generator that he saw in Port. He had to take pictures of it and research it, and then tell me how many hours it can run without needing to be rebuilt. I’m glad he thinks about these things because if not we would have a broken generator right now, I just know it.
I might tell you that I’m not a morning person. I need a good bit of time to myself to just wake up. I don’t like to have any active conversation. My husband has tried to change this about me, but it hasn’t worked. We’ve struck a compromise. I let him leap out of bed and make the coffee, brush his teeth, get the baby up etc and he lets me sleep for a few minutes more, get dressed, brush my teeth, pour a cup of coffee and start breakfast, all without more than a “Good morning” for the most part. It works for us.
I might tell you that I internally beat myself up for not drinking enough water. I don’t understand it either. I mean, the water cooler is RIGHT THERE. Doh!
I might tell you that the quote of the evening just came out of my husbands mouth when he was feeding the baby. She was sucking back all my hard earned pumped milk that I had stashed in the freezer. Hours of pumping equated to ONE WHOLE OUNCE. I mean, at that rate she was basically drinking liquid gold. As she finished off that ONE OUNCE and I whipped up the next bottle of formula attempting a seamless transition he looked at her and said, “Now don’t start crying or you’ll hurt Mommy’s feelings.” Yeah. Don’t.
I might tell you all sorts of things, but alas, this blog is not anonymous.