April 1, 2014
From her pigeon-toed, open-mouthed selfies to her Poppa, I cannot get enough of Kelle Hampton.
Christmas has passed, but her book Bloom, Finding Beauty in the Unexpected would make a terrific Easter gift. Especially if you gave up amazing writing for Lent. This book would be a perfect way to break that fast.
Speaking of her amazing writing, no one can pepper a sentence with “Dude” or replace the g in an -ing word with an apostrophe like Kelle Hampton can. It makes me feel like she’s sittin’ right here talkin’ to me.
Ha! As if I could be so lucky!
Very few people in this world are inspirational like Kelle Hampton. Her words and ideas can change the world. The whole fucking world. Oops, her dad hates it when she swears. Isn’t that adorbs?
When she was pregnant, she thought she was having a second perfect baby girl. The thing is, God chooses the most specialest people in the world and gives them babies with designer genes (GET IT?! It’s a pun! God, she’s funny too! All of that and FUNNY). You really ought to read her book to get the full amazing summary, but just let me tell you that when Kelle’s daughter Nella was born with Down syndrome, she loved her anyway.
I know, right?!
I mean, not right away. She’s not Jesus.
But once she cobbled together a blog about it and realized she could rock out Down syndrome like no one ever had before, she decided to embrace it like it was ugly tile. The popularity of her one viral post says it all. People know good writing. Look at the popularity of “Heaven is for Real.”
If you’ve never heard of Kelle Hampton, sister, you must not hesitate another moment. Slide your smooth slippery fingers over your Samsung keyboard and spell out The Small Things. It’s a place wherefore babies are slung on hips. Laundry is ignored in favor of popsicle pictures of exotic almond-eyes and bent pinkie sunsets. Tiny turtles tempt tots’ toes. Kelle always accentuates alliteration.
As a working woman with two young children, nothing thrills me more than a stay-at-home Mommy Blogger who declares spring break a “lazy week.” She positively promotes play instead of work, which I totally could never do, nor could anyone I know, but just knowing that she is rocking it out at home, taking pictures of her kids and posting them on the internet instead of working, makes me feel like absolutely anything is possible, even over-loaded run-on sentences.
Like me, Kelle Hampton idolizes Emerson, who went to the beach because he wanted to live deliberately. To suck the marrow out of life while buying as many craft supplies, home decor items, cute outfits, shoes, barrettes, Washi tape rolls, and camera doodads as possible. Her ability to zero in on exactly what Whitman meant by “Spartan-like” when he wrote Charlotte’s Web will make you rethink your own version of putting to rout all that is not life. Or something.
I’m sorry for going on and on. Something about this beautiful first day of April inspires me. It’s like my love of all things Kelle has turned me into a marrow sucking machine.
I never promote other bloggers, but to quote Kelle’s website motto, “4 Pay it Ward.”
The Friendly Pedant by Mrs. Odie 
Check Engine
A yellow light illuminated on the control panel of my car. It read “Service Engine Soon.”
Some car designer didn’t pay attention to his English teacher’s lesson on ambiguity. I tell my students to embrace ambiguity. They all want fast easy answers, and those don’t exist in good literature. They should, however, exist in cars.
Is there going to be a light that reads, “Service Engine Really Soon”? What about “Service Engine NOW!” Red, not yellow. Yellow does not convey the necessary urgency.
Because when the yellow “Service Engine Soon” light came on, I didn’t panic, but took my car to the dealership the following morning. That’s pretty soon, right? Not soon enough. My car needs repairs beyond what a “Service Engine Soon” light should have predicted. These car repairs required a red warning light, “YOU ARE COMPLETELY FUCKED.”
Also, did you know you’re supposed to put oil in a car?
I’m kidding.
The insurance inspectors weren’t, though.
“You know you’re supposed to have the oil changed, don’t you?” the only thing he left out was a condescending “darlin’ or little lady” at the end. I sort of wish I hadn’t replied, “I’m not a fucking idiot,” but I’m not always at my most composed when I’m being condescended to by insurance agents.
The inspector from Condescending Asshole Auto and Home Insurance is slowly and meticulously trying to figure out what has gone wrong with my engine, but they are sure that whatever it is, they don’t cover it because it’s expensive. It reminds me of when a relative of mine was struck by a car while crossing the street. She had an uninsured motorist policy through her own insurance that covered her medical bills, but the payout was huge. As a result, the insurance company found loopholes to deny the claim, then dragged out litigation for five years, so instead of getting the full amount of the policy, she had to pay a third of it to an attorney. Sure, she won the suit, but only after five years.
From a layperson’s perspective, an insurance company has no incentive to pay for anything. If their goal is to make profits, then they must operate like a gym that sells as many memberships as possible and counts on members not showing up to workout because the gym would be packed beyond capacity if everyone with a membership showed up! As long as those dues come in every month, they make a profit. My insurance company is more than happy to take my money every month, but as soon as I need something from them, it’s suspicion and accusations.
Odie and I saved for the summer. Our districts have finally gone from a ten month pay cycle to an eleven month. Seven more years of collective bargaining, and we might vote on making it twelve months (fingers crossed), but slow down. No one is talkin ’bout a revolution (in a whisper). We only have to put away 1/11 of every pay check instead of 1/10 (I know, I know, I promised there’d be no fractions). Secretly, I was hoping I would be able to avoid summer school. Take Viva out of day care instead and spend some real quality time with her before she starts kinder in the fall. Disneyland for her fifth birthday, just her and me. That’s not possible now.
I’ve been sad, but I feel like I’ve been sad for a long time. My daughters watch Frozen at least once a day, and I relate more to the fear-filled Elsa than I do to plucky Anna. “No escape from the storm inside of me.” I’m overwhelmed by my confusion and anger. And I can’t hit that fucking note in “Let it Go.” Is a mezzo-soprano or contralto Disney heroine too much to ask for?
I guess there’s a chance the insurance agent will call and say, “Congratulations, Mrs. Odie, the car clearly has a defective engine and we’ll cover the repairs 100%!” then it’s “Hello, Disneyland!” But I’ll start working on my summer school syllabus anyway.
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