Who the Eff is Boba Fett?

The time has come. I must come clean. I do not know the first thing about Star Wars. I have never seen a single movie in its entirety.

I will pause for the gasps of shock to subside.

Throughout my childhood, I do remember seeing bits and pieces, but I guess I was just too busy swimming in our pool or cutting the grass or plotting attempts to run away from home with my sister to watch one from start to finish.

Which brings me to now, 2012, where my 3 year old knows more about Star Wars than I do.

My daughter is a Star Wars...what's the word for those people who are die hard Star Wars fans, oh right...nerds. That's right, my 3 year old princess loving daughter is a Star Wars nerd. The Darth Vader action figure her aunt and uncle gave her in lieu of flowers at her first ballet recital is in her top three all time favorite toys. She walks around humming The Imperial March like it's the soundtrack for her life. No joke. It's actually a touch scary, like those kids who sleep with their eyes open. Thanks to the influences of her uncle, she already has her eyes set on Boba Fett for her birthday.

Ordinarily this would be no problem, except it's starting to be a problem.

I'm clueless when it comes to Star Wars. I didn't actually know who Boba Fett was until a few moments ago when I googled him. Apparently he's just as dark and villainous as Vader. We check out Star Wars books from the library and I'm expected to read them. Except they seem to be written in a language I'm not privy to. I butcher name after name and have to endure my dear husband shouting in corrections from the other room. When playing, K will tell me the rules of the game and I'm supposed to play Han Solo or Luke Skywalker, yet I have no idea who they are nor the difference between them.

So I'm faced with a dilemma, do I watch the movies in order to educate myself on my daughter's passion or pass the buck to her father and uncle and politely concede defeat?

My dear husband is in favor of me watching the movies but he has his own weird experimental agenda where that's concerned. He wants me to watch the movies in chronological order, not in order of release. I personally feel I've made it to 31 without watching them, why start now.

But then, there's K. Is it my job as her mother to know who old Ben Kenobi is?

For the record, K has never watched the movies. And from the violence in the clips we've watched on YouTube, she won't be watching them any time soon either.

I Didn't Want You To Worry Reverb

Every once in awhile, something happens that makes you reevaluate everything you thought you knew only moments before.

My schema was shook up late last night. I can not go into details, it's too personal. But I can say that after a few confusing texts at 1:30am, my view on the world was different.

I'd realized I had been walking through my life, my interactions with family, with blinders on. I'm still not sure if I was the one who put the blinders on or if they were put on me by someone else. Regardless, I had been a naive little girl. I saw what was pleasant.

There is a significant period of my past that, if it were a blog post would have been titled I Didn't Want You To Worry. This recent event feels an awful lot like that, just a smaller scale. Well meaning family members elect to keep information secret in order to spare other people pain and worry. I do not know of any situation where this plan has had the intended result. In my personal experiences, it has always left me hurt.

Now, the morning after my awakening, I'm hurt and worried. My small family is strong, and we have managed far worse than this. Nonetheless, I'm so very worried about the future. How will this current information affect those I love so deeply? It forces me to look at the inevitable nature of life and what lies in the future.

Today, I will try to have fun and enjoy my beautiful and charismatic daughter. Maybe we will get ice cream.

Cleverly Defiant

It's no secret, my kid's a tad bit defiant. Alright, some days she's a hell of a lot defiant.

But she's a smart one.

This morning, for reasons I'm not entirely sure of, she threw her juice cup on the floor when she was finished with it.

"K, come back in here and pick up this cup and put it in the sink."

"No," she said so casually.

My gut reaction was to pick up the cup and launch it in her direction, but I did some deep breathing and counted to ten to think it through. In the end I decided to use my big girl words instead.

"If you don't come pick up this cup, there will be no orange juice with breakfast tomorrow morning."

In her hap, hap, happiest voice she said, "Oh that's okay Mama. I'm having pink lemonade tomorrow."

So pleased with her quick witted response, she practically skipped into the next room.

Let it be known though, I am ruler supreme. She did pick up the cup and she even put it in the sink.

I Live in My House

I had a conversation with a friend recently on whether a house should appear lived in. I have to say, I was slightly taken aback.

I live in my house. I'm not trying to decieve visitors into thinking otherwise.

This is my fridge moments ago.

I'm sure some would call it cluttered. Eh...so be it. I don't mind.

Space in this house is hard to come by, we use what we have. The lower half, devoted to K. The upper half, full of usefullness. Bottle opener? Got it. Peditricans number? Check. Coupon to Bed, Bath, & Beyond? Yup.

To the proponents of making your house appear "open house ready" at all times, sure I could give K a cookie sheet to play with her magnets and tuck it neatly away in the cabinet. I could file the coupons and important numbers in a drawer, rid the fridge of all objects. But, why? I guess I just don't understand the importance.

I think you can tell a lot about people by the contents of their fridge and the magnets on the exterior. Maybe I'll show you the inside another day. But it's clear, the exterior of my fridge says I'm not a neat freak and we live here.