There is something to be said for Baby Einstein...

I think my sister's baby is actually a genius. Am I allowed to say that? Is it bragging even if she is not my baby?

Well, I might even be willing to brag about this- it's that impressive. You might want to brag about her, too, after you read this story. You can even pretend she is your sister's baby if it makes the storytelling better.

You see, Lily is just over one year old and she is ready to potty train. Impressive, right? The other night, at bedtime, Courtney (my sister) called me to explain that when Lily knew she had to go number two, she asked to go on the toilet.

That's pretty amazing for a baby that just turned one.

Courtney has also taught her sign language, all of her body parts, the sound nearly any animal makes and downward facing dog (Courtney really is into yoga). Most babies her age are just learning to talk and Lily is practically competing in oratory contests.

I will take a moment to admit one of Lily's weaker areas (this might make up for my bragging). She did have a hard time growing teeth. It took them a while to start. They're coming in now, though. Sometimes slow and steady wins the race, you know? We're not sharks; she has to be careful with those baby teeth!

I'm going home for Memorial Day and I expect big things from Lily. She and Courtney are picking me up from the airport and I won't be shocked if Lily is sipping Starbucks and driving.

Unfortunately, the idea of Lily-the-prodigy driving at age one might be a far-off dream in Indianapolis if people really start to pursue this idea of raising the driving age.

I wouldn't have wanted my mom and dad driving me to high school senior year (and don't even act like the bus is a real option, here). And I certainly wouldn't have wanted my mom and dad to have to drive me to college for the first two years.

I can see how 18 might be an option (though I remain steadfast in the 16 boat). However, 21 is a little far-fetched. We'll have to see if this really escalates into a debate, as predicted. All I know is that if it does turn into a real debate, I want Miss Lily the orator on my side.

Hey, It's OK...to have a flash of self pity if no one says "God bless you" when you sneeze.

One afternoon, Sara, one of my best friends in the world, called me. As soon as I answered, she said, "Have you read this month's 'Hey It's OK'?" I told her that I unfortunately, had not had the chance to read the "Hey It's OK" section of this month's Glamour.

"OK, well you need to read it right now," she told me, with urgency. Seeing as we both read Glamour like it's the law, she knew I'd have the new copy nearby. "It's your perfect one," she continued.

I opened it and began to read…

"Hey It's OK…

If you are not a cat person…or a dog person.
If you are completely honest about how someone's butt looks in their jeans.
If you haven't done yoga for months, but you still tell people you're 'really into yoga'…"

As it continued, I realized that it really was my perfect "Hey It's OK" and I got to thinking about the yoga thing.

I truly did go through a period, for about a year, where I was really into yoga. And, if I had the time and money, I would still like to do it regularly. So, if you think about it, I really am really into yoga, I just lack the necessary resources.

Or maybe, I am kind of a poser.

Isn't it funny, how easy it is to believe something about ourselves that we want to believe? When I tell people that I am into yoga, in my head, I think I sound pretty awesome. I can't wait for the day when someone says, "I remember you did yoga about three years ago, are you still into it?" And I will smile and say, "Oh ya, I am really into yoga." Then that moment will come when they say, "Great! Me too! Let's go to the really-advanced professional-level-awesome-at-yoga-class!"

Similarly, and also shockingly addressed in the same "Hey It's OK," is the issue of animals.

When you tell someone that you're just not really an animal person, you're instantly judged. It's kind of like telling someone you don't like kids. Who doesn't like kids? Who doesn't like puppies? Luckily, I adore kids. However, animals are not really my thing.

It's like yoga, because I tried to pretend I liked animals for a long time. I'd act like I wanted to pretend like we were cats instead of people when I was little. But, in my head I was thinking, why would you want to be a cat instead of a person? They can't even talk.

At some point, I realized that I didn't like touching them, or playing with them, or cleaning up after them. Slowly, I began to be able to say it: "I'm just not really an animal person."

To this day, I am judged. I see the look on someone's face when I admit the truth. First, it's confusion. The point where they ask themselves, "Who doesn't like animals?" And then, when they realize, me- that's who, they judge me. Generally people don't try to hide their judgment. But I guess I wouldn't hide it that well if someone told me they don't like babies. Besides, I handle the stress of being judged through weekly yoga classes.

Is Barbie's classic dream home really the White House?

“To me, our relationship makes perfect sense. You want me to propose to you, I propose to you. You say no, I say fine, I never wanna see you again. You drive me nuts telling me you want me to propose again, I do, you turn me down. Next thing I know I'm in a court of law where I've got to propose to you or go to jail. It's the classic American love story.” Cheers

The classic American love story. There is so much wrapped up in those five words. Is it when Cinderella meets Prince Charming? Is it when Barbie meets Ken? Is it when Harry meets Sally? Is it when Carrie meets Big or Aiden or Big or Petrovsky or Big?

Does it even exist?

Cinderella was rescued. Barbie found her dream house. Sally proved she was more than just a friend. Carrie realized that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get over Big.

The only thing classic about those four stories is that a pretty girl met a boy (well Carrie met multiple…).

Maybe the only necessary element of a classic love story is that love is involved.

During a time when a woman is campaigning to be president, homosexual relationships are commonplace and green is (apparently) the new black, who really knows what classic is anymore?

Or maybe classic never really existed. Maybe it was just something we all took comfort in. Some hope to live a classic life, with white picket fences and babies and beautiful husbands. Some hope to find that perfect classic black dress to go with those (oh-so) perfect classic pearls. And some aren’t sure what classic means really, but never again want to be told they have to go to class.

76 years ago, on this day, Amelia Earhart began her journey to become the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic. She challenged what women viewed as a classic lifestyle and began to make changes for women everywhere.

Maybe Amelia Earhart is a classic?

Maybe Amelia Earhart played with dolls and dreamed of finding Prince Charming and her white picket fence…and of flying from Newfoundland to France. Boy was she busy!

There might be more to being a classic than we have ever realized…or there might be far less.

Is it possible that to be a classic is simply a mindset? I think I might be an American classic. Is it all in the attitude?

One thing is certain: a real, live, true, American classic is Cheers. It also happened to end 15 years ago on this day. I don’t know what could possibly be more classic than a place where everybody knows your name and a show that managed to entertain 93 million viewers during the series finale.

Even though it's a classic, Cheers had to have its last call 15 years ago, Carrie and Big will have their last call in just ten short days, and Hillary Clinton might soon be having her last call.

I really just hope everyone involved can find the way back to their dream home with Ken (or Bill).

Thank you, Miss Bad at Driving in Ice

I got lost four times today. I wish I could tell you I was making some sort of spiritual or emotional analogy, but I was really, physically lost four times today. The first time, I thought I had an excuse. I did just move to Atlanta and I am still learning my way around. However, considering I only drove to and from work, and to and from the mall, it seems almost impossible that I managed to get lost four times. It’s really one of my more impressive feats.

During my last drive, after I’d stopped and asked for directions twice (yes, twice), I decided that I actually have a disability. When I am at a corner, wondering which way to go home, I will undoubtedly pick the wrong direction. Most people can guess, and say, “I have a feeling home is that way.” Well, when I have a feeling home is to the right, I can guarantee home is to the left. I’ve tried to outsmart myself, and if I feel like home is to the right, I go left, in order to counteract my terrible sense of direction. However, it seems that when I try to outsmart myself, my poor directional sense still prevails, and it turns out, in this one instance, home really was right. (I am the poster child for GPS)

As I was swerving from one lane to another, trying to decide which way to go at each light, I started thinking. I really feel that my car should be marked. I should have a special license plate so people know I am bad at directions. That way, when I swerve onto an exit at the last minute, no one will be alarmed. Furthermore, it would be nice if I were at a light, and someone rolled down their window and said, “Do you know where you’re going? Could I help you? I’m from the area, and I see from your license plate that you’re from out of town and bad at directions. That’s a lethal combination; I’d love to offer assistance.”

And, these special plates don’t have to be specific to someone that is directionally challenged. People who are bad at merging could have their own plates too. That way, you’d know that they might miss the merge sign, so be careful when their lane is about to end in ten feet and they finally realize it. And maybe, other drivers could have plates for having bad vision at night or for being bad at driving in poor weather conditions. If I saw someone with a license plate with a background covered in raindrops, then when it’s raining, I’d know to leave more space between my vehicle and theirs. It really is a perfect solution for preventing dangerous driving. And, I certainly would have been happy if Mr. Bad at Merging offered me directions, and I could say to him, “Thank you for the directions, sir. Don’t forget, we’re going to merge in 20 feet.”