5, 6, 7, 8. Who Do We Appreciate?

ap·pre·ci·a·tion noun \ə-ˌprē-shē-ˈā-shən, -ˌpri- also -ˌprē-sē-\
Definition of APPRECIATION

    1 a : judgment, evaluation; especially : a favorable critical estimate b : sensitive awareness; especially : recognition of aesthetic values c : an expression of admiration, approval, or gratitude
    2 : increase in value

Yay, you!

The Small People lack appreciation. Sometimes they try, but neither of them rock the thanks for peeling every hint of crust of my sandwich, Mom with the fervor I’d like.

No, peeling crusts off hundreds of sandwiches won’t cure cancer. However, E’s likelihood of curing cancer is zero if he’s pulling a Gandhi over some bread crust. So.

And yes, they’d both prefer that I do nothing but play, or rehang the bed tents that were removed after catching them (more than once) attempting a ceiling-length zip-line. By nature of the parent/child relationship we are stuck.

And poor JB? Whenever he says thank you for some thing I’ve done–like cooking real food– I assume it’s rooted in sarcasm.

I find myself humbled, and immeasurably pleased, when someone extends me appreciation. It makes me want to sew adult-sized super hero capes.

Or write what was supposed to be a quick post about appreciating the people in my life.

To my husband:

~For a wide variety of things, mostly summed up as: thank you for resisting the urge to actually push me down the basement stairs. I love you can be said in myriad of ways– I prefer this over flowers.

To my children:

    ~Each of you, and sometimes both of you, move slower than a paper income tax return;

    ~The regular demands for my attention when I’m otherwise focused;

    ~The enviable ability of remembering a random statement from 2 years ago, we should build a backyard fort, while simultaneously forgetting things like putting on pants.

I appreciate you both. Maybe not necessarily for what I listed above, though I’m finally starting to see the humor in a human truly forgetting to PUT ON PANTS. Do you not feel the breeze?

To my parents:

    ~Dad, for teaching me to be independent, despite having no desire for me to assert said independence while living under your roof. Good times.

    ~Mom, for overcoming your hatred of conflict enough to step between hard-headed spouse and child during some epic situations. (*cough*Navy*cough*)

To JB’s parents:

~ For having so many kids so that my own children get to appreciate what it’s like to grow up with cousins. For that one, I will fake pray at every family meal.

To my crew of friends, some old and some new:

    ~ For interrupting me when I talk too long. And for not getting angry when I interrupt you, even when you haven’t been talking too long.

    ~ For remembering that my bed was once referred to as The Cloud. The Cloud contained neither snoring husband, nor pillow-hogging, foot-in-butt-crack-seeking children.

    ~ For fully understanding that paying attention and snooping are completely different things.

    ~ For giving me the line “it makes me slower when you rush me”. Karma laughs with you–and at me– every day.

    ~ For understanding–and agreeing–with my Nickelback to Frank Zappa analogy.

    ~ For not saying out-loud thinking it’s ridiculous when I don’t know the date, or plan life 90 days in advance. Or check the weather.

    ~ For knowing that I have a slight obsession about the Craigslist matrix and hanging out with me anyway.

    ~ For not thinking that the plastic bottle cap at the park was a used condom.

    ~ For cutting me slack with my flakiness, despite not knowing me well enough to realize that it both is– and isn’t — a chronic condition.

    ~ For inspiring all of my appreciation urges today, by not getting me a pony. Instead you wrote me the best love note I’ve gotten since Mike G. misspelled want as wont back in the 10th grade.

    ~ For being quiet. For being loud. For being there every day, or just picking up like no time has passed– I appreciate you.