opposite day

(by kristi bennett)

when my sister and i were little and trying to entertain ourselves on long road trips in the back of a honda civic, we would make up games to play.

we would take turns holding onto each other's arms and tickle all the way up until one of us laughed. we would hit ourselves on the head, pretend to pass out and have amnesia, and then revive ourselves as someone else: "loretta? loretta? i'm barbara. don't you remember?"

(we listened to a lot of country music back then.)

we would dispel air from our lungs and try to also let out the loudest laugh we could in the process. (this one often was the last straw for my poor dad, who would simultaneously drive and try to grab us from the front seat, car weaving back and forth while we dodged him and giggled hysterically.)

and we played opposite day. "i hate you, sara." (which, of COURSE, meant "i love you, sara.")

this could work in any situation. my mom could ask us to take out the trash. "it's opposite day, mom, so you mean DON'T take out the trash." (incidentally, as a parent i now have a good concept of just how crazy we must have made our parents while we were growing up.)

as an adult, i find myself thinking, "it's opposite day," during the weirdest times. when our bank account is empty, "it's opposite day." when i have too much work to do, "it's opposite day." when my kids are driving me absolutely bonkers, "it's opposite day."

it doesn't do anything, but it makes me feel better somehow.

last night, as i was falling asleep and writing this blog in my head (this happens all the time), i thought, "the ugly kitchen is like opposite day."

it's the opposite of ugly: it's creative, full of beauty and goodness and realness and honesty. it makes my heart full every time someone emails me with a new post. i am blown away by all of the amazing people i know, people i am honored to call friend, and i know that it means something.

no opposite day on that one.

so, please, by all means, stop sending me posts, close off, build those walls, stop reading, stop bonding with me.

it's opposite day.