Thumbelina

"I'm leaving my girlfriend," the rosy cheeked boy whispered in my ear during a lovey-dovey musical scene--obviously trying to replicate Disney--from the movie, Thumbelina.

I droop my mouth in an exaggerated look of shock. "Why?"

 "For you."

I usually don't make good first impressions, but today goes to show that unfortunate circumstances can change.

"You're small like Thumbelina," he smiles at me with those deep-set baby blue eyes of his. I know that his now ex-"girlfriend" was the woman who worked as the office secretary...who was also old enough to be his grandma. I get it, he's hitting the stage now where he's becoming more attracted to younger women. Who are also around his height.

I had only known this new boy for four hours before he told me I was his new girlfriend. Who did this guy think he was, trying to win me over with these expedient compliments? But boy, I have to admit--he sure knew how to sweep a girl off her feet.

Flattery soon hazed my judgment. I couldn't hold any of this new-found knowledge in anymore. I needed to tell everyone thes words of admiration that this boy had just revealed to me.

"...so he told me he's leaving Pam for me," my face beams as my dry, chapped lips curl naturally into smile formation.

"Oh, well that's interesting," my boss enlightened me.

"Oh...?" I acknowledge, as I try to make the carpet clutter-free of Legos.

"Because today he told me that I was his new girlfriend." I didn't think it was supposed to start raining until tomorrow, but this snippet of news from my boss sure dampened my parade. She continued, "Yeah, these were his exact words: I'm leaving my girlfriend for you." She said this as she scrubbed markers from the wall. How could she act as if this was a typical thing to be told?

"Oooooooh," was all I managed to muster. "B-b-but that's exactly what he told me!" I exclaimed with a genuine look of shock plastering my face, I'm sure.

"Then he said..." my boss remarked as she had one of the other eight year olds go over and blow his nose, "since we're boyfriend and girlfriend now, we need to go hot-tubbing." She continued to make the classroom more presentable for the baby shower that was scheduled to be held in her honor in half and hour.

My life of perfection, if only for 20 minutes, came to a halt. My man, at the grand age of eight, is already wanting to hot-tub with another woman (married, nonetheless) whose first child is due next month.

There's a fairy in this story. Here's a hint: it's not me...or Thumbelina.

Fairy tales don't really exist...but fairies do.

I Am Your Sunshine, Your Only Sunshine

Usually I find myself responding to "that one short girl," my sister's name, or quite simply, "hey, butthead." You know, the usual pet names. However, tonight I find myself being called something that I've never been called before: The Most Sunshine Blog, thanks to Syida. Because if my blog ain't sunshine and daisies, then I don't know what is.

I don't see any sunshine on this picture. I might have to rectify that. Or change the name of the award.

Guys, I just have to tell you that I've been typing in silence. So...I decided to turn on some iTunes to keep my mind from exploding. Know what's really funny (well, besides this joke: How do you wake Lady Gaga up? Poke her face!)? Well, the song that decided to play is...Steal My Sunshine by Len! I don't even know what the heck this song is about, but I love the irony of the whole situation. Kind of like I love cake. But now I'm starting to like ice cream more and more. Mmmm, especially Baskin Robbin's Lucky Mint ice cream. That stuff is to die for. Well, not really. I wouldn't die for ice cream. But, then again, maybe I would from overeating it.

Anyways, you don't need to steal the above award if you really, really, really, really want it. All you have to do is ask. But I'll probably say no. So, if you really, really, like, really (x10.73) want The Sunshine Award 2011, just join the blog hop at the bottom of this post. All you need to do is link up your blog's url and, voila! Millions of other bloggers will stop by your blog and take a looksie. Well, maybe not millions. More, like, hundreds. Pretty good deal, huh? It's a win/win situation for everyone: YOU receive a fabulous award, YOU get more visitors to your blog, and YOU are special (plus, you know, all this stuff about me giving you awards and thingies only makes me look like I'm a saint).

Yes, I really DO look like a saint...a saint who makes flowers blossom from the glow of my stunning face.

Join this blog hop if you want The Sunshine Award 2011 award. If you don't want the award, fine. You're more than welcome to put my altered version on your page. I know that's what you really want. There's no need to be shy here, we're all friends, right? Well, according to this blog hop, we are!

1. Follow HOST'S and CO-HOSTS' blogs through GFC.

Host-Tawna's Journey to a Healthier Me (Click this link to add your blog to the hop!)

Co-Host-My Journey with Candida

Co-Host-Shanimal's Crackers

2. Grab the button and put it somewhere on your page.

To link to this blog, copy and paste the code below into your site. This hop is scheduled to be open until Sunday night at midnight EST.

<a href="http://tawnasplan..com" target="_blank"><img src="http://i754.photobucket.com/albums/xx183/tawna6988/Decorated%20images/Hearts.jpg" border="0" alt="Tawnasplan" /></a>

I got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine (oh, so that's why my jeans aren't fitting as well. And here I thought it was just from all the Lucky Mint ice cream. Wow, I'm dumb). I got a love and I know that it's ALL mine, oh, whoa ooooooh.

Oh, wait, it's not ALL mine. You did steal my sunshine. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

100% Reason to Remember the Name

Disclaimer: I wrote this story on behalf of my friend, "Rochelle."

“So, how was your week? Is there anything you want to talk about?” he asked, the same way he’s been starting out our conversations for the past eight weeks. He is reliable.

“Yeah, how do you remember all the people I talk about? I mean, like, how do you remember their names? Because it seems like you remember all the people I mention. I know you take notes after each session, but what are you writing down?” I ask with wondering eyes.

“Oh, I just jot down what we talked about. What your struggles were that week, etc.,” my one (and only) confidant notes.

Wow, he knows everything about me. He just knows me so well.

:10 minutes later:

“…So I printed out this worksheet for you to complete this week throughout the next few weeks. Try and fill it in everyday,” he mentions as he hands the slip of paper over to me.

I nod my head that, yes, I would try and complete this task, all the while intensely focusing on the words Jessica’s Daily Activities that were displayed proudly atop the paper.

“…So, in this box you would mark on a scale of 1-10 how you felt that morning. Then in this box you would mark how you felt that evening. The point of this activity is that I want to see what you’ve done that day that has impacted how you feel. I know Jessica enjoys blogging. So, say, blogging could be one of the activities that you mark that has helped you that day. You’ve also mentioned that you like being outside and doing yard work. You could also mark that down,” he continues to explain to me how exactly to fill out this little project that was printed a week ago.

“How do you feel about this? Do you have any questions?” he tends to ask me this question after every statement he makes.

“Uh, yeah, just one question: who’s Jessica?”

“You…” Um, do I have another personality that I’m not fully aware of?

“I’m not Jessica.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“…You’re Jessica MyLastName (how’d he even know how to pronounce my difficult last name???),” he says with a slight hesitation, as if he’s trying to confirm to himself that he isn’t mistaken.

“Uh, that’s not me.”

A brief pause of silence.

“…Then what’s your name?”

“Rochelle,” I say, slightly embarrassed that I even brought the whole Jessica issue up.

Crap! he’s probably thinking to himself, I’ve just lost another client.

“I guess I spoke too soon about you knowing everyone’s names,” I remark…not knowing what else to say.

Wow, he knows everything about me…except my name.

Awkward silence.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry...sooooo, tell me the lowpoints of this past week..." He didn't know how to respond either.

This is why I’m in therapy.