The Modesty Gene

mod⋅es⋅ty /ˈmɒdəsti/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [mod-uh-stee]

–noun, plural -ties.

1.	the quality of being modest; freedom from vanity, boastfulness, etc.

2.	regard for decency of behavior, speech, dress, etc.

3.	simplicity; moderation.

4....... Carmella

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Origins: 1525–35; italia modestia.

Common antonym:

I use to think that modesty was something one grew into; or rather that it was something life beat into you.

You know, kinda like how a lot of people will be bleeding heart liberals in their youth and then they have to go out into the "real" world and get a job and start paying real taxes and then bam: they are conservative. Or sometimes, they are liberal and then they have kids and of course that changes everything.

Shut up.

I am speaking generally.

Yeah you, I am talking to you who is reading this and saying: THAT totally doesn't apply to me.

Just bear with me please. This is not about you. This is, of course, about ME.

Anyway, I have come to realize that there must be a modest gene and I do NOT. have. IT.
Never have.
Life?
Has not beaten it into me.
I admit to being a little dumb. Or as my dad says "hard-headed".

Okay, I will concede that life has beaten a tiny bit of good sense into me-- but not much. Basically it boils down to that I may not be the first to take off their clothes any more but I can also promise you that I am not the last either.
The clothes?
Yeah, they'll still come off.

And by "taking off clothes" you do know I am speaking metaphorically? Right?

Well, kind of. . .

And sure, sometimes I do get embarrassed-- but I am over it in the blink of an eye.
I don't blush.
I am not bashful.
I am, let's face it, a bit of a braggart.
If you see me being quiet there are 3 things going on:
1. I am trying to figure out how to interrupt so I can talk.
2.I am sick or in pain.
3.You have bored the hell out of me and I am no longer even listening to you.

Of course there are good and bad points to having this type of personality.

Wait, I mean persoNATALIE.

But for better or for worse this is who I am.

My poor daughter. She apparently got more modesty gene than any human being should ever be allowed to have. Lucky for her though she has me as a mom to help ease her way into life so those embarrassing, attention drawing situations will be much less painful for her.

Beau, like me, is lacking the modesty gene. In fact, as I write this he is here in the living room in only his underwear dancing on the couch to Spoon's Underdog. Try as I may I cannot embarrass Beau. And try as he may he can embarrass me-- a little. But, like I said, it is short lived. Like him, my thinking is all attention is good attention. I--and he--can not help it. I swear!

Carmella, by the way, would NEVER dance around in her underwear in the living room in front of open windows.
I?
Totally guilty of dancing around in my underwear.

Let's put it this way; Carmella--at age 8:
Closes the drapes on her window when she dresses.
Me?
At age 37?
This still hasn't occurred to me.

Okay I think you get my point.

So today I was mystery reader for Carmella's class. I've known about it for about 2 months. I picked this particular date when the email went out for parent volunteers because I knew I would be recovering from ING and therefore would miss no important workouts and also it was the Friday before spring break and Easter. Automatic themes to work with. I may be a fly by the seat of my skirt kinda girl but I am all about a THEME!

Of course, since my kids go to public school, I can't really do a theme about Easter. And of course I wanted to wear a costume. Because, duh, if I didn't I would not embarrass Carmella. (And if I don't embarrass Carmella then how would that be helping her?)

Thursday I went to Border's Books to look for inspiration. First book I found was Humpty Dumpty Climbs Again. This gave me an idea that I could use plastic eggs with treats inside as their little favor--cause, really, unwritten rule is you can't come empty handed as mystery reader.

Past times I have been mystery reader I have done stuff like make cupcakes with spiders webs with a fly for when I read The Spider and the Fly.

Or, when I read a pirate book I dressed as a pirate and brought the kids chocolate doubloons and pirate outfits.

And earlier this year I read Halloween books and dressed as a witch and brought them candy and mummy eyes and we played Mummy in the Graveyard.

Needless to say I've set a standard by which these kids have become accustom to.

The pressure! This is second grade! Not kindergarten. They have expectations.

The next book I found was Dumb Bunnies. I was a little worried about the word "dumb". But decided to risk it and my plan, my theme began to take form.

Next stop was Target for plastic eggs and a pair of bunny ears--I know I have some but have no idea where they are. It was a dollar well spent not having to hunt down an old pair. I also bought dum dums and smarties.

My plan was to tell the kids to not be "dum dum's" over spring break and instead be a bunch of "smarties" and keep up their reading.

Unfortunately the dum dum's did not fit in the egg. I put tootsie rolls in there too. They totally didn't match my theme and I will admit that kinda did give me a bad feeling on the inside to not have everything "go" but I consoled myself with that "everything goes with chocolate."

I kinda did want to put Carmello bunnies in there too but that was getting too pricey having to make favors for 16 kids. I have to reign myself in one way or another and usually, in my case, it is because of a budget.
Self control? Will power?
Things I do not have.
Wild flying creativity?
In spades.
Money?
Nope.
The way I see it everyone needs a boundary. Unlucky-- and sometimes lucky--for me mine is the pocket book. Having limits forces you to make better use of your creativity because it becomes about finding solutions and work (here comes the cliche; brace for it),"outside of the box."

This morning before my run I took some time to make my favors. Creativity struck again and I decided to make my eggs all Humpty's. Big on creative ideas, small on artistic talent I think they still turned out pretty good considering my lack of talent with sharpies.
The kids LOVED them.! They loved making Humpty climb up stuff, fall down and break apart. Evil little sadists second graders are!
We all played with our Humpty's after the stories.

After I made the favors I went out for a run and hoped inspiration to hit me again for my costume. I got in 6 hilly miles. My first road and hill run since the marathon on Sunday. Really, if I am being honest, I was hoping to run longer. Ideally it would have been 12 but I really didn't have time since I didn't yet have my costume fully realized. Besides, it was really windy and my lower left leg is still not 100% from the marathon. I am sure I could have pushed through it but there is not point. I am in recovery mode and I have run everyday this week except Wednesday because I swam that day (see how I have to say it to make myself think it is okay). So everything is coming along (again, if I keep saying it I will believe it--like my whole "run happy" mentality. Embracing the zen. Exhale).

When I got back Ryan happened to come home while I pulling stuff out of my closet and laying it out on my bed, designing my costume. He asked what I was up to and groaned a "poor Carmella" when I told him I was the mystery reader. He then advised me that the cheetah clogs were too slutty, not to wear any part of my Santa costume and then told me I was an idiot when he saw the final result. I, by the way, was just so excited that I found another outfit to wear with my pink leg warmers that go with the slutty kitten costume .

Ryan may think me a fool but he still took my picture (and he kissed me too and he like, Carmella, is modesty gene endowed.)
I give you Dumb Bunny Momma: (Note the cow bell. I? Am not afraid to have people look at me.)So I will admit to this strange sensation I felt --that I have to assume might be a type of embarrassment therefore akin to modesty-- when I had to walk across the parking lot of the school, sign in at the front office and then walk down to the second grade hall while every single person that passed me giggled, muttered under breath or just stared at me jaw dropped open. But you know what, I own it and just smile at them. I have found that if you don't give forum to self consciousness people tend to have a harder time questioning you outright and making fun of you in person because frankly, and this is just a theory, but I think they might be a little scared. So they say nothing.
At least not to your face.

PS. I think my plan is working on Carmella. When I walked in her classroom she just rolled her eyes and said "not again."
But she did laugh and sat next to me while I read and happily handed out the Humpty's to her classmates.

PPS. I stopped by Beau's class to give them candy and Beau just said, completely unfazed; "I like your ears Mommy" and then went back to talking to his friend. It was like it didn't register to him that it was a costume but rather he was just noticing that I had a fancy new accessory. Which in fact, he asked me about after school: "Mommy, those new ears that you had? Can boys wear them? I would like some but not pink."

Gift Bags

You know what?

I LOVE that Beau, when asked what he wants to be when he grows up says a vet. Some days he will say a bird doctor but most days he declares his deep passion to someday be a vet and take care of all the animals. I also much prefer his passion to be a vet to his 3 year old aspiration of being a lifeguard and surfer dude.

Carmella also wants to be a vet but her desire to be an artist is stronger.She doesn't think she can have both. Mostly I think she just wants to play with dogs--the other animals she doesn't care so much about.

Beau on the other hand is passionate about all animals. And even though I do get tired of reading encyclopedias on sharks or Arctic animals, or birds instead of real bedtimes stories with a plot and characters, I am proud of his curiosity and eagerness to learn.

I secretly love that Beau and Carmella prefer to watch the Westminster Dog show over cartoons. I'll even admit to finding the conversations such as this completely adorable:


Carmella: Beau, who are you going to marry?
Beau: I don't want to get married.
Carmella: You have to get married if you want to have a pet. How bout Livi-- or Riley?
Beau: Riley, she likes dogs and she has a Boxer. Boxers are my favorite dog, after Huskies.

And even though I don't love to go to the dog park, I'll admit that I think it is incredibly cute and funny that they want to go even if we don't have Lola with us. They actually beg me to take them to the dog park more than they do a place like Monkey Joes or Chuck E. Cheese.

And I love it when they encounter a breed of dog that they have only seen in books and will exclaim excitedly: "My first Yorkie! That is the first real life Yorkie I have seen!"

I wouldn't be surprised if Carmella, somewhere, has a journal listing all the types of dogs they have seen.

But what I do not love is that their passion to be vets has left me with no scotch tape and always searching for a pad of post it notes.

What does scotch tape and post it notes have to do with wanting to be a vet?

Let me give you exhibit A: The Animal Hospital (aka, Beau's top bunk)

(note all the scotch tape on the wall)

In case it isn't clear here is a close up of shark and panda with their scotch tape and post it note bandages.


So you see, this is why if you ever recieve a gift from us it will be in a gift bag (recycled no less). It isn't that I don't have wrapping paper. I don't have tape.

On going long . . .

Two days after the Museum of Aviation marathon and 2 days before I became so deathly ill I couldn't move from the couch for three days because walking up a flight of stairs winded me so much I would nearly pass out, I had my hair cut.

No no no.

Not a lot.

It still looks exactly the same as always except it is 2 inches shorter, maybe. The idea of shoulder length hair frightens me so the notion of me with short hair is just completely inconceivable. My short hair phobia is Lala's fault. When I was three and a half Lala chopped all my hair off because I got gum in it and the resulting hair cut made me look like a boy. And considering how offended I was that the Aviation Marathon recorded me as male and that I proudly wear a Run Like a Girl shirt I am sure you understand that I definitely do not want to look like a boy.

Why?

Because I am a girl.

So I will have long hair until I can just no longer have long hair. Which Lala is, well, 21 years older than me and until recently she had long hair--and I wouldn't be surprised if she grew it out again since she tends to favor long hair too. So, I think I will get to have long hair for at least another 20 years if it is at all genetic. I do wonder though how and when that grandma hair happens. Is it a slow evolution or does it just happen when you turn 80?

Darn it all.

I am already getting off the subject. Sorry, I am never one for the short or concise, in anything. Which is slightly ironic considering my short attention span but even when I was an art major I never could embrace the "less is more" concept that was so often parroted to me in critiques.

So anyway, not sure if I mentioned it before but my sister Pookie cuts my hair. She is a hair dresser by profession. She's pretty cute too. Here she is with me at party last month:

Which I should add that she did not last long at that party. Oh, wait here is another of us at the same party:

I know I look like the drunker sister but really I wasn't. I don't need alcohol for shenanigans. It helps; but it isn't necessary.

Anyway the party isn't my point. Just wanted to give you a visual on who is Pookie.

Pookie lives in town--ITP for the Atlantans in the house. Me and most of my extended family are OTP and live in the suburbs north of the city. Pookie is nice and drives up here and cuts or colors all of our hair here so we don't have to drive in town and go to the salon. Which would also cost more. So whenever she is up here with her gear I try to make sure I am around to benefit. Generally she does the cutting at Lala's. Which is fine by me since it is only a 10 minute drive to their house from mine.

Okay, so now I am almost to the point of my whole story. So pay attention. I'll set the scene:

Pookie is cutting my hair in Lala's kitchen. Carmella is sitting on the counter next to where I am standing doing a running commentary of everything. Beau is running around the kitchen talking guns with Pop-- who was eating a bowl of the $100 She-crab soup Lala had made the day before. I joke that after I finish getting my hair cut I am going to the grocery store and hope to spend around $100 for 5 days of groceries.

Lala is walking around with her hair in foils waiting for her grays to go blond or brown or whatever it is Pookie does to her hair. And I am just trying my hardest to hold still-- which by the way is very very hard for me to do and I am failing miserably because Pookie keeps letting out exasperated sighs at me. I am also worried she is going to poke my eyes out with her scissors so I am trying to be quiet, which is also hard for me to do.

Pookie changes the subject to running and asks Carmella if she is going to be a marathon runner like me.

Carmella empahtically tells her, "No. Running is boring. It takes too long."

And Pookie says, "You could run track-- or cross county in high school."

And Carmella with her wide brown eyes saucered with disbelief and confusion says:
"You mean like run to New York-- or California? People do that?"

Is This Why People Love Dogs?

Okay.
Here is my disclaimer.
And anyone who knows me can vouch for it:
I am not a dog person.

I was never a dog hater but I was one those . . .
that preferred cats.

There I said it.

Hate me if you have to.

I mean if Dogwood Girl (speaking of bonafide, crazy dog loving, dog kissing girls) isn't going to care that she might have pissed off her life long crush and all her friends from high school then I am not going to care for being known as not a dog lover.

Just to be clear, I am not a hater.

Just not all that passionate about dog.

I thought though if maybe I had a dog all my own I might get it. You know, why people are so crazy about dogs. Why they don't think they are stinky and annoying.
I mean I get the whole puppy is cute thing but then they get big and stinky and they have all this hair and they chew on your stuff and you can't take them every where so then you have to worry about what you are going to do with your dog. I mean. Dogs? Are a lot of work.

My kids though LOVE dogs. They go up to strangers wanting to pet their dog and they like to talk about dogs and say things like: "Mommy! I just saw my first real life Yorkie!" Or, "Mommy. Chihuahuas? Chihuahuas take tiny poopies. We should get one."

I mean it is look at this dog or aw, look how cute that dog is--when really, the dog is NOT cute at all. But my kids are totally gaga for all dogs.

So I consented to a dog but it had to be a dog of my choice. Crazy as it sounds I like big dogs. I just don't see the point of a little dog. I mean if you are going to get something that size you should get a cat. But alas, I am very allergic to cats. Ask Fishstick's cat:

That picture is what happens to my eyes after I touch the cute kitties.

My choice in a dog was a Husky. Huskies are not for everyone but first and foremost the are pretty. I know. That just makes you hate me even a little more. I don't like ugly dogs. Whatever. Go join PETA.

So, I had to have a pretty dog. I mean if you are on the fence about dogs anyway looks really do count. Second I wanted a dog that could run with me and could run far. Third I had to have a dog I am not allergic to. I seem to be allergic to Goldens, Labs, Chows, and Sharpei's. But for some reason I know Huskies and Malamutes don't bother me. Which is totally bizarre considering the amount of hair they shed but my parents had both a Husky and a Malamute and I never had issue with them.

So we have Lola!

I do love Lola. She has come so far and as Huskies go she is an awesome dog.

But she is A LOT of work. A LOT.

She does make the kids happy and she is good and she is a great running partner but I still don't get the whole dogs make you all melty inside thing.

Until today. I think the experience was akin to when the Grinch's heart grew--or was it melted--whatever, you get the point. I, moi, was almost at the dog melting point.

Wow. Are you still with me?

Okay, so this morning the kids were downstairs eating their breakfast and Lola was barking. Huskies don't usually bark. They chatter, whine, howl and yelp but bark isn't something they really do. So when Lola barks something is up.

I yelled down to the kids to leave the poor dog alone and eat their breakfast. Kids claimed innocence but were still cackling away as if they were up to no good and Lola was still barking like there was an intruder.

So I yelled again. At Beau. As he is usually the Lola instigator. He and the dog have a very special relationship.

I come downstairs to see what all the barking is about and apparently Lola is totally freaked out by Beau's homework. I bet she wanted to eat it.
What homework?

This homework:

Beau had to decorate a little Beau for his kindergarten class. It has a photo collage all over it.

So of course he had a bit of fun with Lola.
I mean this was like bad kitty boy Thor (may his bad kitty soul rest in peace) and his irrational fear of the blue coat hanger. I mean how could you not chase her around the living room with the Beau doll?
No animals were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Look, here she is. She is laughing: