Getting a house key made for my daughter has been on my list for two weeks. In Franklin-Covey terms, it's an important task but not incredibly urgent...
I used to think that I'd be happy when I had breasts. Or when I no longer lived "at home." Or when I was out of debt. Or when I lost "the weight."
Why is it that when I leave the house in the morning my chin is smooth as silk and stubble free, but by the time I get to, say, the Sellwood Bridge on my way to a meeting, a lone prickly chin hair makes a midday appearance when no tweezers are in sight?
"No. I didn't know she was a girl until I saw the whites of her eyes." "Mom! That's not how you tell it's a girl."
We punched out paper dolls and their assorted wardrobes. We feasted on homemade egg noodles, Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies, "pwingles," and Butterfingers candy bars. We puffed with all of the manners of an assumed adult on candy cigarettes.