I say ridiculous things. Sometimes, to make people laugh. Sometimes because an opportunity presents itself. And sometimes, just because I can.
Some days—like today—I wake up full of mischief. And since my hubby works from home, he gets to “enjoy” my ongoing antics.
My guard dog is a great example of this. Most days when I sit down to write, our doggo Faith sits—or rather sleeps—beside me in a nest of blankets, covered by another blanket. It’s a bit ridiculous, even for my faithful “guard” dog.
A few days ago, Faith was sleeping and JP came in to say hi (more to the dog than to me—JP has reviewed this draft and would like the record to reflect otherwise). Unfortunately, he disrupted her with hugs and scritches, tucked her in again, and headed back to work.
Faith immediately threw her blanket off and grumbled.
So I covered her.
She threw it off again.
Stared at me intensely.
And, of course, grumbled.
So I covered her again.
I’m sure you can figure out what she did next.
JP heard the ruckus and came back in. He covered Faith with her blanket, and I swear I heard the angels sing as she settled down.
With Faith’s contented grumbles and snores echoing in the background, I told JP he had to stop disrupting my guard dog when she’s on duty. He just shook his head and said, “I can’t with you.”
Now, every time I’m writing and JP walks in, I make a comment about him disrupting my guard dog. Occasionally, I’ll tell him she’s off duty and he can pat her—but not too often, because I don’t want her to get spoiled and refuse to work.
I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to be like this. It came naturally. I’ve been like this since day one.
When I was born, there was much excitement. I was the second of three granddaughters.
The doctor got caught up in the excitement. He slapped my backside, announced, “This one is going to be a handful,” and held me up Simba-style for all to see. (If you don’t understand that reference, you need to go watch The Lion King.)
People crowded into the room, anxious to see me. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Some fell to one knee and bowed their heads.
This probably seems unbelievable, but it’s true.
I know because I was there.
And this is how I remember it.
It’s amazing what people will accept when you say it confidently.
Sometimes these little tales get me in a bit of trouble.
And not just with JP.
On the Fourth of July, we always watched the Boston Pops and the fireworks.
One year, little Mae asked how the fireworks got so high in the sky.
The average parent probably says, “They’re launched from a barge.”
Did I say that?
Of course not.
I told her there were very big, very strong men on a barge floating on the Charles River. The strong men threw all the fireworks high into the sky.
When she asked if their arms got tired, I explained that they only threw fireworks for about 15–20 minutes before being replaced so they could rest.
Years later, Mae realized the story wasn’t true.
Yeah… I think she’s still a little mad at me.
In my defense, my version is a lot more fun.
Sadly, thirty years of ridiculous stories have caught up with me. Many of my tales no longer fool JP.
Or my kids.
I realized this recently when I broke a tooth and couldn’t convince JP that the dentist had patched it.
He had to see it to believe it.
Maybe I should consider giving up my antics. Maybe I’m getting too old for these shenanigans.
Or maybe…
I just need to double down.
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Brain Fog & Brilliance 
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