Are You My Grandma?

When I dropped Scarlett off at Bible School for the last time, there was a white-haired lady standing in the hallway. Scarlett ran to this lady, squealing, "Grandma!" and gave her a hug. Then she went into her classroom. This lady? She was not Scarlett's grandma.

The elderly lady and two of the other Bible School teachers were all giggly, and "Grandma" said, "She has been calling me 'Grandma' all week! Do I look like her grandma?" She was all smiles.

And I said, "Yes." And nodded emphatically.

But y'all? I told a lie. In a church. To a little old lady. I am so going to Hell.

Scarlett has four sets of grandparents. And that's not including the "greats." So, pretty much, if she sees a white-haired or otherwise elderly-looking person? She figures they must also be her grandparent.

But I could not tell this smiley, nice lady, "No, you just look old." So I lied.

At a work-related baby shower, Scarlett decided one of my coworkers must be her grandpa, and she said, "Mommy, I'm going to go sit in Grandpa's lap." I had to physically restrain her until I could convince her, in frantic whispers, that he was not her grandpa.

If we are at the store, and nice elderly person stops to comment on how cute my girls are? Scarlett will practically scream, "Momma! That's my Grandma!" Usually, I just smile and shrug, hoping that their old-person hearing will confuse them and make them think she must have said something else. It works every time.

So, if you are out somewhere, and a sweet brown-haired toddler comes running up to you, shouting about grandparents? That's my Scarlett. And also? You look old. Sorry.

VBS and SOS

At long last, Scarlett is going to school. Vacation Bible School. I'm not sure how she is going to take it when it ends on Thursday, but I'll worry about that later. Now? She is loving it.

It started on Sunday night, with a bouncy house, painting, necklace-making, and more. When I brought her to her room and said goodbye? She didn't bat an eye. Then, today, her second day? She didn't even tell me goodbye. Just disappeared into the classroom and engrossed herself in the toys. When I came to pick her up? She was mad. She wanted to keep playing. Sigh.

Ever since the idea of her going came up, I have had the song from the Bible School session that I attended over ten years ago stuck in my head. The song involved a lot of repetition... "Vacation Bi-ble School, V-B-S! Vacation Bi-ble School, V-B-S!" I hadn't thought about that in years. Weird how things just come back to you like you heard it yesterday.

When I found out that Scarlett would be at "school" from nine in the morning until twelve? All sorts of visions ran through my head. Visions of me Accomplishing Stuff. If you have been reading from the beginning of this blog? You can probably guess how that has turned out. Yep... I have accomplished nothing! No cleaning, no errands, and certainly no Writing My Novel.

Y'all, I have wanted to become an author since I was eight years old. And except for a pitifully small handful of short stories? I have finished absolutely nothing since then. Oh, I have ideas. I've begun a million stories, give or take three. But I never finish them. And you know what? It kills me. I am majorly depressed that I am a hack, that I am not living my dream, that I am not going for it. All those reality competition shows that I just love, like So You Think You Can Dance? Make me want to cry when I am watching them. Because there, right in front of me, are thousands of people who are going for it. Reaching for their dreams. Taking a chance. And a lot of them are soooo talented. And they're all, already, so much younger than me.

So what is my problem, then? I think it is that I am Scared Of Sucking. That's pretty much the reason I don't do a lot of things. I'm scared that I will fall flat on my face, look like an idiot, embarrass myself, make people think, God, what a loser. I'd rather just not try.

The other day, when Michael made that joke about my period being an ellipsis? I was all, "Hahaha, that's so funny, I am so putting that in my blog."

And Michael said, "Sometimes I wish I had a blog. But I can't, because you'd get all sad."

"Why?" I asked. "Because yours would be more popular than mine?"

"Not really that, just that I would do it. Just like I couldn't write that book I told you I wanted to write, because I would actually finish it."

Ouch. (The people who love you most? Know the quickest ways to hurt you. How fucked up is that?)

"Well," I said, "if you know you can finish it, then do it. Make us some money." God knows I probably never will. And that? Sucks.