myob
Sometimes I contemplate walking around with a sign on my back that reads: Mind Your Own Business.
Maya: “Who are you talking to on the phone?” MYOB.
Ali: “When are you going to jump into the 21st century and switch from Hotmail to Gmail?” MYOB.
Nosy Indian Aunt: “Why are you wearing that outfit again when you already wore it to my cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?” MYOB.
Valet Parking Attendant: “How come you drive a two-door car when you have a child?” MYOB.
Should your daughter still be in a booster seat at six? Why is your fridge always so empty – what do you guys eat? How can you justify employing a housekeeper – are you THAT busy? Why do you spend so much money on X, Y, and Z? Do you ever stop complaining?
No. And MYOB.
I had a plethora of questions for this lady in line at Panera but I MMOB : Minded My Own Business.
Instead of making geometry and biology mandatory I think schools should make kids take classes like “Social Skills 101: Keeping Your Obnoxious Questions to Yourself” and “Off Limits: The Art of Avoiding Offensive Topics.”
Anyone with me?
i kind of get it
Every summer camp within a 30 mile radius was either closed or full this past week. This meant that I couldn’t pay anyone anything to take Maya on. This meant that I had to actually spend time with her.
One on one.
I uncharacteristically felt up for the challenge and so…
We went to the park. We gave Barbie highlights in her new at-home salon. We happily sat in traffic because it was something to do. We went to my parents house and I let Maya vacuum my mom’s ugly rug for fun.
Don't worry, my mom thinks her rug is ugly too.
We bought a new lamp and a new desk and hit Trader Joe’s 10 times. We practiced our spelling and organized cupboards and grew crystal trees.
Thank you Aunt Maie for helping to entertain Maya. And me.
And just when I thought I would go completely mad I turned on House Hunters, grabbed Maya and her Hello Kitty blanket, and settled in for an episode. Or three.
You know what? Aside from Maya’s incessant talking over the show and constant questions about why someone would want to relocate to Nicaragua, our bonding time was actually – dare I say it – fun.
Finally. I kind of get why people have kids.
29/29
41,760 minutes later and Ramadan is finally over. And not a minute too soon as I was hanging on by a very thin thread.
Aside from losing more weight, developing even darker under eye circles, and taking multiple steps backwards in my eczema recovery, I am pleased to report that I actually came away from the experience having learned a few things:
- Ali will never hesitate or feel bad asking me to make him lunch when I’m fasting.
- I really can get sick of thinking/hearing/reading about food. Food Network and I are on a break.
- I am an impatient person and nothing in the world is going to change that. Least of all Ramadan.
On a separate note, my dad claims you can ask for absolutely anything during Ramadan and it will come true. I had my doubts since my dad says a lot of stuff that makes no sense, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to test his little theory.
So I sat down, shut my eyes really tight, and wished upon a star that my husband would clean up his crap. And guess what?
Piles of technology.
It worked. Miracles do happen.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 