Write it in your notebook.

 I was never a quiet child or well behaved from what I gather.  I never thought I was that bad but I’ve been told differently from several of my elders.  I will give my mom props, though.  My mom was the world’s fastest and most accurate smacker.  If seek and smack were an Olympic sport, she’d win gold.  She could reach you from the driver’s seat, into the back seat at 60 mph, never miss a beat or be bothered to look back.  I don’t care how far you moved back or how quick you dodged.  Don’t be misled, though, a good smack didn’t always deter me.

After I got married, I’d returned home for a family function and ran into a lady who used to be our church’s youth choir director.  I was really happy to see her, as I’d known her and been directed by her my entire life.  I walked towards her and did my best to give her a warm greeting.  I said, “Hi Mrs. ‘so & so’, it’s so nice to see you again!”.  I expected a sweet response but instead this sweet, old lady said, “Well dear, it’s nice to see you too, but you certainly were a very mischievous child.”  She wasn’t kidding or even offering a fake smile and simply walked off.  I happened to be standing next to my brother who was doing his best not to gag on his muffled laughter.   I turned to my brother and asked, “Ryan, was I really THAT bad?”  He said, “Yeah, you were pretty bad...” 

Eating crow  --  it tastes kinda like chicken.

I guess the damage was done with Mrs. ‘so & so’ but my mom did develop a system to keep my mouth shut and her dignity in tact by keeping a notebook and pen in her purse at all times.  She had us in church often and worked 2, sometimes 3 extra jobs.  She often had no choice but to drag me along with her.  Church and her jobs were obviously places I was to be behaved.  She would hand me this notebook and say, “Misty, if you have something ugly to say, you write it in this notebook and we’ll talk about it in the car”.  I always did write it in my notebook and, as promised, we’d discuss it in the car.  I think she even started writing a few things in my notebook after a while and now keeps one of her own.  My notebook became a useful tool.  This inside joke and technique has been passed on to my husband as a means to deal with me and my need to sometimes say ugly things.  To this day, in certain situations, I will hear the words, “Misty, write it in your notebook and we’ll talk about it in the car”.  Only now, these words come from my husband and my notebook is now kept in Iphone notes, but why split hairs?