As I started to add more and more things to my list of things I can’t do, like make a stinkin’ queen-sized bed or fold a fitted sheet or remember to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer or do any kind of ironing of any kind {note to self: self, clearly laundry is just not your bag} I thought that maybe I need to refocus my energies on the things that I *can* do.

I am really good at puzzles — the jigsaw kind and any other kind. I’m kind of the Rain Man of random trivia. I could be your phone-a-friend on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, is what I’m saying. You know, if that show still existed, or anyone even remembered it. I’m really good at both driving stick and parallel parking. I mean save for the empty coffee cups, the mess of gum wrappers and empty Tic Tac containers, I’m pretty good at the whole keeping cars alive thing. Just don’t inspect my trunk for rogue photography props and blankets. I know all of the words to pretty much every song that came out in the ’90s. I still can make a mean friendship bracelet and I still know every trick to beating the original Super Mario Bros. I’m amazing at yelling at my tv, especially during The Walking Dead and Packers games.

I’m a really good rollerskater.

I’m really skilled at leaving coffee mugs all over the place, especially inside the microwave. I’m really good at being emotionally invested in fictional characters — both in books that I’m reading and on the small and big screen. Don’t even get me started on how much I’ve been thinking about the Out of Africa slash Circling The Sun characters, and I finished the movie and the book, respectively, over a month ago. I highly recommend both, ps.

I’m good at photographing other peoples‘ kids. My own is a big nope. Although we did manage to get these recently, on a wing an iphone and a prayer.

I’m so good at sarcasm. So much sarcasm.

I {have become} really great at not engaging with people who make me so very frustrated and angry on Facebook.

I’m really good at smelling literally everything. Like, it’s kind of a superpower. Olfactory Girl. (Apparently someone beat me to this but I’m still going to invest in a cape. And some nose plugs.)

I’m really good at stressing about my babies. Emily is currently stuck at Midway airport in Chicago, her flight getting delayed for thirty minutes every thirty minutes. My two teens have become seasoned solo travelers, which used to seem funny to me, since my sister and I were traveling unaccompanied since we were 8ish and 4ish, earning our wing pins and cockpit visits. But things are different now, and gone are the days where my mom would walk us onto the plane and tuck us into our seats and my dad would walk onto the plane to fetch us at the other end. And on top of this, the idea of my wee Emily sitting by herself in the airport, trying to fill her delayed hours with people watching and multiple trips to the most expensive Starbucks in all the land, just about breaks my heart. I hate thinking of her alone, even though at almost 16, she’s a pro at closing herself in her room for hours and hours in a row. Teens are winners at being alone.

Oh! She’s finally boarding, six hours later.

I guess now it seems I’m also really good at exhaling.

What can YOU do?