Synesthesia

Synesthesia is a condition where pathways are crossed in the brain, creating temporary, or sometimes permanent, colored numbers, letters, or days of the week. It can also create visuals with music or sound; one hears something and automatically conjures up an image to go along with that sound, or vice versa. Crazy, huh?

I am thrilled to tell you that I have this. I have always had it, I just didn't know what it was or how to label it. A few years ago, my friend Lindsey, who is a reading teacher, told me about synesthesia, and I instantly knew what she was talking about. Here's how mine works:

Every number has a color. It's always the same color. Every time I look at a number, I see colors, whether it's in black type or not. When a person looks and sees this:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

I see this:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Every time. It doesn't matter how old I am or what time of the day it is or what I am looking at, these numbers always have a color. The numbers on my alarm clock are lit by a red light. But if it's 2:11, to me, it looks like this:

2:11

If it's 3:53, it looks like this:

3:53

Isn't that crazy?

So now my secret is out. I've decided that I'd somehow like to turn this into some kind of superhero superpower, but I'm not sure how yet. Any suggestions are welcome.

HOLLA -

Tess and Taylor

Last weekend, I took my niece Tess to the Taylor Swift concert. She just recently turned ten, and I thought it would be the perfect way to celebrate! We made a day out of it - Tess came over in the morning, and we hung out before the big show. On our to-do list:

Compare sock collections



(mine is clearly an embarrassment, comparatively).



Watch The Sound of Music. This only lasted about 45 minutes, by the way. "I don't like old, long movies, Mimi."

Get stuff to make muffins for breakfast the next morning.



Figure out mean ways to torture Uncle Ben in his sleep.

Read The Dork Diaries aloud, taking turns at each chapter. Great read, by the way.


GET TO THE SHOW...



...which was phenomenal. Not only do I LOVE Taylor Swift's music (because it's personal, written by her, and is instrumentally and lyrically interesting), I realize now that she also puts on a killer show. Lighting, staging, orchestration, props, dancers, fireworks....im-pressive. Yes, we about froze to death. And no, we did not get to stand up and scream and yell and jump up and down because we were about 1,000 rows up in the nosebleeds. But it was glorious. And magical. And I am STILL thinking about it. And playing her cd nonstop in the car.



It was great fun, and I hope my lovely, talented, smart, mature, interesting, beautiful niece loved it too. (I think she did. Even when it took us 30 minutes to find my car afterwards because we were in the wrong lot.)

Taylor Swift and a weekend with Tess = TWO THUMBS UP.




HOLLA -

*%$#@ing Friday

It's finally Friday. %$#*ing Friday. Why is it that, somedays, life just gets a little easier when you throw in an expletive or two? I'm not big on cussing, but every once in a while, it just feels good to let the bad words fly. This is where best friends come in, in my opinion. There's no one better to badly banter with than your best buddy. (How's that for some %&*#ing alliteration?) There's a Ben Folds song that my bestie Elise and I love to sing in the car because, right in the middle, he screams the F-word. We get all giddy leading up to it because it feels so wrong to say but it's just so #*%^ing fun.

Cuss to your spouse, and you get a faint look of surprise and disapproval. "Clean it up, Haskamp. Not in front of the kid." Cuss to your parents, and feel a little wave of adrenaline before the guilt rolls in. "Melissa Suzanne!" (I always get the first and middle name when I get into trouble. At the age of 31, this is still disappointingly effective.)

Anyway, it's the end of the week, and if you've had a week like mine, it's been a tough one. I double dog dare you to go outside on your lunch break and throw out a @#$% to the universe. Maybe doodle an *&^%@ on your notepad in a company meeting, and then fiercely scribble over it until it's unrecognizable. Pass by someone and whisper a &*$(! under your breath. It will free you, I promise.

Tonight is a MLS game with the hubs and a gaggle of co-workers, and tomorrow is Taylor Swift with my niece...I am gooing with excitement. I'm hoping that all the goo outweighs my complete and total exhaustion. Even if it doesn't, this weekend is going to kick &*$. I'm just going to type it. ASS.

HOLLA -

I am Going to Pee Myself.

Kate Spade is opening on the Plaza.

Thank You

Thanks to all of the readers who made a commment, either on blogger or facebook, on my post "Don't Give Up". It means so much to me to have wonderful women in my life to help me get through this transitional phase. Amelia has been sleeping a little better, usually from 8 to 4, then from 4 to about 6, which is helping my sanity a TON. It makes such a difference for me to get one solid block of sleep, even if it's only 6 hours. (I know that's a lot in "mom" time, but I'm still used to much more than that!).

It's a bummer that Ben and I don't get more time to spend together, because after Amelia is asleep, I'm usually right behind her. I would love to stay up and read, watch movies or t.v. with Ben, or BLOG, but I know it's best for me to go to bed and get as much sleep as I possibly can to get through the next day. Everyone keeps telling me that I will get used to less sleep, and that, as long as I am a mom I will be tired, and I totally get that. That is precisely why I go to bed as early as possible, every night. :-)

I have friends who may be reading this blog who do not have babies but want them, and I want them to know that I am not ungrateful in any way for the blessing that I have been given. I thank God constantly for Amelia. At night, as I am reading to her, or singing songs to her that I dreamed about singing for 9 months, I cry tears of joy as that sweet baby stares into my eyes. I squeeze and love on her about 100 times a day, just brimming with gladness. I really can't put into words how much I love my baby. MY baby. But as much as I love her and am thankful for her, it doesn't mean that it's easy, and that becoming a mom hasn't been a really hard adjustment. I choose to be honest and say exactly how I am feeling, because I'm guessing there are a ton of moms out there who feel the same way that I do, but don't feel like they can say anything. And I want moms to know that they can say how they feel...being honest is nothing to be ashamed of.

I don't think I have post-partum depression, or need any medication. (Although I wouldn't turn down some heavy drinking every now and then. No wait, sleep is better.) I'm just tired. And a struggling new mom. And that doesn't make me a candidate for treatment or therapy. I'm just doing the best I can, which more often than not is pretty okay.

So, thanks. Let's keep the convo going, because the Lord knows there are gazillions of people out there who just need to feel that they are not alone. And if my struggles can help someone else, then it's all worth it.

Of course, it's worth it.

HOLLA -

C is for Cookie

...as in, I made some. I stink at making cookies, by the way. I can read a recipe up and down and frontwards and backwards, and I will still mess something up AND make a mess in the process. They will be burnt, or lumpy, or to soft or too hard and crumbly. I am telling you, my baking gene is non-existent.

However, I had a craving for fresh-baked cookies the other night, so I made some. And dang, they were good!



I guess it took me becoming a mom to truly understand how to read the back of a bag of chocolate chips.

HOLLA -

Who the Frick Cares?

I grew up in a middle class family. Not upper-middle class, and certainly not upper-class. Just riiiiight down the middle. We didn't have nice cars or go on fancy vacations or attend private universities, but we had enough, and we were happy. SO so happy.

And now, I am married and have a family of my own. We have a home and two cars and two jobs and four degrees between my husband and me. And guess what? I am STILL middle-class. (And SO so happy, by the way.) :-)

And whoopdy-frickin'-do. I had a conversation with someone at lunch today and it took every ounce of energy in my body to keep me from doing the eye roll. I was just trying to make conversation, and asked this person what their favorite restaurant was. Instantly, you could see this person's wheels turn, trying to figure out the "right" answer to my question. Instead of just being honest and telling me what they thought, they started rambling off all of this mumbo jumbo about "Well, when I go out with my friends, we go to more EXPENSIVE places like A, B, and C, but when I go out with my spouse, we go to more casual places like D, E, and F." (Which, by the way, were still really nice places.) And what if they would have said, "You know, Missy, my favorite restaurant is KFC. I just love that fried chicken and cole slaw and that big old clump of fake mashed potatoes!" I think this person would have rather died than risked judgement by telling me the truth!

How sad to constantly be living your life in fear that someone is going to judge you for where you eat, as if it's not good enough. If only this person knew! My favorite restaurant is the Cheesecake Factory, but I'll settle for some Chipotle or Red Robin any day! I EVEN LOVE MCDONALD'S!!!!!!!

No matter how successful Ben and I become in our lifetimes, I never want to be this way. Or treat people this way. The world is spinning, our lives are short, and people everywhere are dying from famine and disease.

Just fess up and say that you love a big fat Skyscraper from Winstead's.

Who the frick cares?

HOLLA -