Sunday Funday Musings

5:35 AM

When I was little, maybe three or four, I remember standing in the bathroom with my Oma. She was helping me pull on various pieces of clothing after a bath, blowing puffs of baby powder on my steamy skin. When she'd buttoned the last clasp on my sweater, I remember she kissed the top of my head and said "someday you'll be taller than me!"
 
I don't know why this memory stands out, still so perfectly preserved, but it does. I also remember my initial response, looking up at her, all five feet, two inches of her, and thinking....no way! Not possible.
 
Twenty-odd years later, I can comfortably rest my chin on the top of her head.
 
You could argue that it was more that she just knew my genetics and was making an accurate prediction, but I think it's something more intricate. I think it's because she gets me.
 
She always has. I'm willing to conclude that she's the only one who really does.
She just gets me.
 
***
 
And it's more than that she knows me. I have great relationships with people who know me, people I love and who are my best friends. But it's Oma who can look at my face and know there is only one solution: sugar on my toast and milky tea.

She knows that blood oranges are my favorite.
 
 
She gets me.
And she knew that I'd be tall.

We're similar. Maybe that's it. That's the secret.
I love my sister. She's my best friend and we totally, one-hundy-percent know each other. But we're equal parts different.

Oma and I? Heh.

We both can appreciate that a good pair of shoes have the ability to make the world a slightly better place.
 
The first time I had my heart broken, it only took her ten minutes to meet me at the mall where we scoured the racks of TJ Maxx until we found the blue canvas Tommy's that didn't heal my heart, but made my feet look cute.
Then she let me cry in her lap.
 
She's just....always gotten me.
****
 
When I was little, I had my own tea cup. A tiny, delicate thing, that was always filled with more milk than anything else. She always got me.
 
When my cousins began getting married right out of high school, she patted my back and told me, "you don't need boys." Do what feels right to you, you don't need to be like everyone else.
 
When the value of my life's contributions were questioned because I chose an education, a career and notably, not children, she said "I'm proud of you."
 
When I met Ryan and we decided to pursue our own personal goals independently of each other, she said "do things your way, when you're ready." And she's always had my back against prying, judgy eyes.
****
How do you adequately appreciate someone who has loved you for every single thing you are, and the things you aren't, since the minute you were born?
 
I already share all my best books with her.
Because, that's another thing. She's reads as voraciously as I do. When I lend her a book, I know she'll be done with it a week later.
And I know, if I like it, so will she.
 
Sometimes, I think that my sister and I are such good friends because of our differences.
On the same level, I think that my Oma and I are so good, because we are so much the same.
 
Who else but my Oma will squeal in Goodwill with me, upon finding an Ann Taylor for a smokin' deal?
Who else but she, would stand in the kitchen, comparing the merits of soy milk versus fat free.
She told me that I deserve to achieve my greatest ambitions and that the rules of tradition don't apply to me. I'm exempt. I get to be anything.

I think the point is, you don't adequately appreciate that person. You want to, but you never can. There's isn't enough time in life to appreciate them as much as they deserve.

This blog post is unusual and possibly quite random. I wrote it a few days ago and then elaborated on it this morning. I just love my Oma and this week, I needed to write about it. Because maybe I can't appreciate her as much as I want to, or as much as she deserves, but I can dedicate a blog post to her and her rock star-ness.

****

I've been projecting!
Look what I made!

P.S. --It's soap.

So, here's the story. The idea is to take a bar of soap and turn it into liquid soap so as to make it go farther and subsequently save you hundreds of millions of dollars.

So I bought a Dove's Moisture Bar.
And then I grated it like cheese.
This part takes fooooreeeevvveer.

 

I took several breaks to play with my confused dog.


When it's done, it looks like this:


Then I added it to a pan with 2 cups of water.
My house began to smell much cleaner than it is.

And PRESTO CHANGO!
A couple of minutes of heat turns this stuff into the goopy pleasure that one only finds within the confines of bottled soap dispensers.

So you grab yourself one of those things that I usually use to make huge chocolate kisses, but is really for pouring things into small openings, and poured the liquid goop into a soap dispenser.
There was two and a half bottles worth in the pan.



Bazinga! And all for a dollar.
  ****

I went forth and felt like a domestic goddess for the rest of the day.

Also, I poured some of the leftover soup into a glass jar and proceeded to drop it promptly the next morning over the tile in my bathroom. So there was that mishap...

Have a happy Sunday Funday!


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