I'm an intense, hyperactive woman with an imagination in overdrive who loves her Husby, her two Wonder Wieners, and her emerging career as an author and photographer.

Wednesday, August 24

Shiny and New

This is my earliest memory of my father. I'm two years old. A 6'-tall, giant bald man with big ears lays on the floor and puts a pillow on his face, and fakes a snore. I snatch the pillow and wobble away as fast as I can. He casually puts out an arm and pulls me in. I squeal with glee. He roars like a lion and tickles me until I can put the pillow back on his face, or rather, until he helps me put the pillow back on his face. We play the lion-tickle game until I can no longer breathe.

This is my earliest memory of my mother. I'm three years old. My mother sits in a dark room, crying. I ask, "Why are you crying, Mommy?" She tells me she is only crying because she is happy. I know, even then, this is not true. When she goes away for days, no one will tell me where she is. When she returns, she is very quiet, and will stand in the middle of a room for hours, doing nothing.

This is the genesis of why I am addicted to fun.


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