• sisters on a mission.

  • Three sisters. One in Virginia. One in London. One in New York. None of whom wear shorts. Ever.

  • the mission?

    Taking delight.
    Learning Italian.
    Getting to Italy.
    Wearing shorts.
    In Italy.
    June 2011.

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versatility – part II

Part II of the Versatile Blogger Award:


I think I may have a mild form of obsessive compulsive disorder.  Maybe it’s just a lot of weird habits.  Or maybe I just don’t like clutter, and I like to tidy-up, and to straighten things, and to have a clean bathroom.  And is it so strange that I can’t sleep with my closet door open, or my bedroom door shut?  I also go through quite a few anti-bacterial hand wipes.  However, I do spend a lot of time on public transportation.  And really if you open any of my cabinets and drawers, the contents would come falling out.  It’s not like I alphabetize my CDs or even have my socks paired up.


I absolutely do not like to wander around naked.  Or sleep naked.

Childhood Dreams

Growing up, I do not remember really having any burning desire to pursue any particular vocation.  Not a teacher or a doctor or a hairdresser.  I do remember loving to dance.  My sisters and I would have these funny little dance contests.  One of us used to pretend to be the bad dancer and the other the good dancer.  This was all done to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, of course.  I think I would have been a good performer.  I still have a secret desire to do so.  On the other hand, I do like to tell people what to do (should I have said lead people or motivate people towards a common goal?).  What can I do with that “skill”?  I have tried many, many things and taken many classes, but alas I am only a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.


Sometimes I use my husband’s razor to shave my legs and under my arms and I don’t tell him.  I carefully dry the razor off and put it back in the medicine cabinet where I found it.  So he can then shave his face.  Ick.


I can fly a single-engine plane.  I know I should say that one of the most memorable moments of my life was when I had my children (I was so drugged up that I actually don’t remember it anyway), but it was my first solo flight. Wow! I will never forget that day.  Flying for me was one of those things that I loved to do even though sometimes it absolutely terrified me.


I know my real age is almost 44.  I have managed people, had jobs with authority, am mother to two children, appear to be a grown-up, experienced, worldly woman.  I do know that I am truly a very capable and independent person.  But, honestly, I feel like a bit of a sham or a fraud most of the time.  Inside I’m thinking that can’t be me.  I am only 20, right?  I know nothing yet.  I don’t take myself too seriously.  Labels such as wife and mother don’t seem to belong to me.  I even feel strange calling myself a woman when I am more comfortable with the term girl.  Maybe this is a good thing.


I sleep in socks….all year round.

2 Responses

  1. Love it. I’ve always been impressed by your flying adventures. I don’t know if I would have the nerve to do it.

    Regarding the OCD, if we combined your obsessive cleaning with my obsessive labeling / categorizing it would truly be scary.

    I can’t sleep with my closet door open either. Maybe it’s leftover angst from when we were kids and were afraid of monsters in the closet. We need Jonas to rig up a door-shutting contraption for us.

  2. Girl Woman. I understand that completely. Wife and Mother do not define me either. I get that.

    And the sham thing. Though I don’t think you are one. But I get that, too.

    I loved those dance contests.

    Agreed. Flying a single-engine plane. Serious cool.

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