I like change. I just don't like change.

When my nephew Austin was three, I used to pick him up and take him on little outings. We'd go to a movie and stay 45 minutes, play some games at an arcade, eat at Steak-n-Shake and then I'd bring him home. We had some fun times together.

One time, we were having a deep discussion in the car about who he likes. He made a profound statement.

I like girls, I just don't like girls.

Oh, the truth in that statement! He's twelve now. He has no idea how true it will be. Except at the time he pronounced girls "gyeels." Very cute.

So then there's me. I love change. Mix it up, change things, move the furniture, paint a new wall color, change, change, change. Love it. I'd move to a new house every other year if I could. I moved ten times in ten years when I was on my own.

Except when change is put upon me, and I've become attached to whatever it is that's about to change. Then, eh, not so much.

I had this vacation planned in March for me and my kids. My husband was going to be away for two weeks for work and I was taking the boys to see my parents during that time. I was attached to this plan, looking forward to it, the whole nine yards.

So my husband just called and said his work plans have changed and he can come to Florida with us. Yay. I'm irritated. It's Change I Didn't Ask For. I only like Change I Ask For.

Have you ever read "Who Moved the Cheese?" Mice don't like it when people move their cheese. I think that's the moral to the story. Only me, I don't mind moving cheese. I just want to be the one to do the moving, that's all. I'll move my cheese around all day long, as long as I can control where it's moving.

Mmmm, cheese. Now I'm hungry.