Tuesday, January 8, 2013


As I sit here in the airport waiting on my plane, I can't think of a better thing to do than write about fuzzies.  You are probably thinking what the heck?  Or you are thinking, right there with ya sister, we definitely need therapy.

Fuzzies are all those little pieces of whatever on your carpet before you vacuum.  Now if you live in a regular household you get out the vacuum and sweep them up.  Haven't you figured out by now, I didn't grow up in a regular household.  Oh no, apparently children were created to clean up fuzzies.  Bad little children, which we seemed to always be.  This was one of a select group of punishment options if we did something wrong - we had to pick up the fuzzies from the living room carpet.  All of them.  We would be on our hands and knees for long periods of time.  Cinderella has nothing on me.  Usually it came after a battle at the dinner table over not wanting to eat something.  You know the "you must eat at least 3 of that before you can leave" philosophy.  If you didn't eat it after sitting there for at least an hour, it revisited you as your breakfast.  I don't know why I didn't train myself to vomit on command when forced to eat pea soup or asparagus.  I was not a quick reaction kid.  Man I wish my mind would have worked like that.

So you say what is the good that came from this?  I do tend to figure out how these events have benefitted me in some way.  Well, let me think...I can get a knot out of a shoelace or necklace with little to no effort due to the extreme dexterity created by this tedious fuzzie exercise.  I can see the smallest specs on a carpet from a long distance and worry everyone else is distraught by their presence as well.  And I know this wasn't the worst of my punishments so actually picking up fuzzies was a relatively good thing.

My kids have no idea how good they have had it.  Through these little stories they are starting to realize that even the things they didn't like, weren't as bad as picking up fuzzies.