Firstly, it’s pronounced mEEm (rhymes with seem). I had to look it up because I am not exactly down with the geek speak and had, up until this very minute, been pronouncing it mème (as in crème de la crème). Secondly, by the end of this post, I believe we will all agree the more appropriate pronunciation is mEE-mEE, since it really is all about me. Combine that concept with a game of tag and that is the shortest definition I can give you. Now that we’ve clarified the word meme, let’s get back to Veronica then, shall we?
I started reading Toddled Dredge last August when I came across her Alumni Magazine Meme. Oh my. It is very difficult not to appreciate someone who is this honest, hilarious, and creative. But what kept me coming back for more was her insight and intellect – something I marvel at considering Veronica and Az have managed to reproduce at approximately the same rate as we have. It has been my experience that this particular lifestyle choice does not leave much time for deep, reflective thinking, yet Veronica consistently manages to deliver. And she is very funny. Did I mention that earlier?
So this last Christmas I had a rough go of it. Basically, I’d like nothing more than to kill the getting at our house and to refocus on the giving – and preferably to people who actually NEED to get something, rather than my own children who are awash in The Toys. I think if we could all admit that most toys, regardless of cost, have a life span of about 3-weeks, then we could come up with a plan to redirect some of the outflow currently dedicated to The Toys to pretty much anywhere else. And that would make me very happy. Happier at Christmas time, anyway. At the peak of my frustration over this, Veronica began posting her twelve days of Christmas series which I thought were just brilliant - and intriguing since I had never heard of the Twelve Days of Christmas or the Epiphany. They were so uplifting and inspiring at a time I felt the materialism of the season was overcoming all that was right and good, that I managed to surpress the lurker within and comment...only to find shortly thereafter that I ACTUALLY KNOW VERONICA. It was a tremendously joyous revelation. The type that keeps you up all night smiling to yourself. It was indeed, a little serendipity.
So, this particular meme requires that I list six of my quirks:
1. I received my first pacemaker when I was 28 for sinus arrest with syncope. Sometimes, Karen, I have supraventricular tachycardia and can no longer play tennis because the stretching pulls on the leads. Want to know what’s amusing about that last sentence? Karen doesn’t even read my blog. Which is sad, because I just gave her a cool medical condition she could research. Anyway, I pretty much sucked at tennis, so giving it up was not exactly a loss. In October I had said pacemaker switched out for a flashier model because the batteries in my first one finally ran out. Which begs the question, if they can come up with a pacemaker battery that lasts 8-years, why is it so difficult to come up with a cell phone or camera battery that lasts longer than 4-hours?
2. February 3rd was my own Happy Adoption Day. Because of this, our eventual adopting has always been a foregone conclusion for me, my own experience being so fabulous and all. The question has always been more when than if…until lately. Our oldest child turned 5 on February 7th, and our youngest is 18-months. This is the longest time I have gone between pregnancies and if we want to catch any sleep in this decade we either need to reload now or start filling out the paperwork. So what is holding me back, you ask? Before I delivered our first, I hadn’t taken into account how much I would:
A) Enjoy the whole breeding and nurturing process. I pretty much lactate on sight of an infant.
B) Discover how significant and meaningful it is to me that my biological children look like me. Some of them anyway. But that’s more people in the world that look like me now than before we started reproducing.
Hence the conundrum. Worse, Jeff is relatively ambivalent about the matter. He cares only about numbers. He’ll go one more round of our own, or two if we adopt - because we can potentially get what amounts to a 2 for 1 deal if we adopt internationally. I'd have to ask the genealogy experts on my husband's side of the family to be sure, but if experience is any indicator, the meaning of the word, Freshour, is can't pass up a bargain. Please, world, I beg of you, put more thought into family planning than we have. Really contemplate your options. Don’t just look at your checkbook or into the mirror.
3. Prior to getting married in July of 1999, I was a prolific singer. I sang in the choir at my church, I frequently sang on the worship team, I sang with a small group, I directed a children’s choir, and even did studio work on occasion. For years, performance (though I hate to call it that since so much of it was so very worshipful for me) was an immense part of my identity and a part that I adored. Then I got married and cold turkeyed it all pretty much on the spot. While I've successfully reentered the teaching zone recently, I sometimes I wonder if I’ve still got it. I wonder so much that I'm going to try to get to this conference in June and see if I can resurrect whatever is buried deep within. And then do what with it I'm not sure - especially since the conference is mainly for writers and speakers which are among the lesser of my talents. Way lesser.
4. In my heart of hearts I believe that I am an above average speller. Yet you’ll note the word I confidently wrote with a permanent black marker on the coffee bean canister below.
Someday, we’re going to take the leg out of there so we can drink it.
5. I am selectively empathetic. During my illustrious college career, I majored in psychology. In one of our last senior seminar classes we had to state to the group what we had learned about ourselves. I stated that I realized that I had no empathy. If it hadn’t been the very polite crowd that it was, I believe I would have garnered a standing ovation. My professors visibly breathed sighs of relief that I wasn’t considering becoming a therapist…or a counselor for you early ‘90’s college graduates. It wasn't exactly true. I have an extraordinary amount empathy, just not for people who are distraught that they did not manage to find their soul mate while they were in college. And when you earn your degree at a conservative Christian college, that’s a real problem. It is, after all, the primary reason you all are there. Or so they would lead you to believe with the multitude of carefully organized dating activities.
6. I am passionate about onions. The other night I was making macaroni and cheese and the recipe called for ¼ cup of minced onions. I picked out the largest onion I had, sliced it, sautéed it in olive oil, and tossed the whole thing in there. I thought it was downright delicious. Jeff thought it was a little heavy on the onion. He actually had the gall to accuse me of doubling whatever onion the recipe called for. I found that insulting. Mere doubling is soooo below me. Quadrupling is where I’m at. And he should really know that after 8-years of marriage.