I really try to get out more.
But the thing is, sometimes I can be a bit anti-social. I don’t know if it’s because I’m an Only Child or what.
I have tried playgroups because I figured my children shouldn’t be anti-social, you know? So I went to one a few times when we were in England.
And I promptly got irritated.
There was this one woman who’d say things like, “And my son is already counting to ten. Is that normal?” Her son was one. She was obviously fishing for a compliment, waiting for people to gasp, “Oh my GOD! He’s one and can count to ten? He’s so ADVANCED!”
She got the praise too. All the other mothers would flip out and go, “Your son is a little genius!”
I think she was lying. Her son ate dirt for craps sake. He tried to poke my son’s eye out. All I’m saying is that he never counted to ten in front of us.
“My son knows all of his shapes,” Bragging Mom said the next time we all met. “Is that normal?”
Dear gracious, I wanted to claw my eyes out.
And then other Moms chimed in as though they couldn’t bare the fact that their precious children weren’t geniuses. So someone else would go, “Well, my daughter can sing her ABCs..” And someone else would shout, “My son can do algebra!” or some nonsense thing like that.
I was all, “Well. My son learned how to say please. We’re pretty thrilled with that.” Because at that point Tommy wasn’t talking much and any word he’d utter was exciting. Another time I went, “My son keeps his pants on when we’re in public now. Always a good thing.”
Anyhow, I only went to that group one more time. And yes, Bragging Mom was back in full force. “You GUYS, my son knows how to ADD! Is that normal?”
“No. It’s not normal.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could think. All eyes swiveled to me. I swallowed and went, “I mean....christ, I guess your son is…” (And Bragging Mom leaned forward, wanting the word so badly..) “..advanced,” I finished with a roll of my eyes.
Women like that drive me insane. The bragging drives me insane. Of course I think my children are smart but I know other people really don’t give two hoots. But some people love to prattle on and on about their little darlings and I just want to cover their mouths and say, “Let’s talk about something else. Please.”
I went to another playgroup when we first got here.
This one woman had a sling where she kept her baby and I just casually said that I didn’t use slings.
“Why?” the woman demanded, clearly in shock. The other two women there looked equally surprised.
Ooops. I twisted my fingers nervously and went, “Well. I prefer strollers. I don’t like my baby strapped to me. I need, you know, space.”
It was like I had just screamed the word PUBES or something. The women all looked positively aghast that I had dared to say such a thing.
I mean, oh no, I use strollers. The HORROR. Not wanting my baby strapped against me. THE HORROR.
These were obviously crunchy ladies. And there is nothing wrong with crunchy ladies. I have friends that are crunchy and they probably think I’m harming Mother Earth with the disposable diapers I use but they’re polite enough not to say a word about it.
Before I left that group, I so wanted to pause and look over my shoulder and say, “And by the way. I had the DRUGS when I gave birth.” But I didn’t want them to keel over from shock or anything.
I was tempted to give a group another try. So I signed up for e-mail alerts. Then I get an e-mail from the group leader talking about meeting for some Fitness Fun.
First of all, fitness is NEVER fun. Is the woman on crack?
Second of all, she wanted us all to meet at 9. In the morning. Granted, I’m up at 7 during the week but I’m never fully awake by 9. At 9, I’m still blinking in confusion and wishing that I could go back to bed. Do you honestly think I could force myself to a GYM for some Fitness FUN? Maybe if we could meet at, oh, one, then I’d be alert. Granted, I’d still be cranky being in a gym.
Needless to say, I’m not going.
I might just do what I have been doing and just bring Natalie to the indoor mall playground and let her run around. She meets kids that way after all. I’ll chit chat politely to the mother and if she’s a nutter, well, odds are I won’t ever have to see her again so it’s okay.
It’s a win win situation.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Day of the Dead, Halloween, or All Saints Day - What is Your Preference?
As most of my readers already know...I teach Spanish and I thought today I would give you a brief...or not so brief historical lesson on El Dia de los Muertos. I used this lesson in class today. Of course...after the boring notes part we did some fun stuff. We made masks and made papel picado. How fun was that? Anyways....What do you know about El Dia de los Muertos. Well...from someone who does not like our Halloween....this holiday has an appeal to me. Especially since I lost my dad a few weeks ago....but that is another story....All you wanted to know about Dia de los Muertos in a nutshell is this...More than 500 years ago, when the Spanish Conquistadors landed in what is now Mexico, they encountered natives practicing a ritual that seemed to mock death. It was a ritual the indigenous people had been practicing at least 3,000 years. A ritual the Spaniards would try unsuccessfully to eradicate. A ritual known today as Día de los Muertos/Dia de los Difuntos, or Day of the Dead. The ritual is celebrated in Mexico and certain parts of the United States, including the Valley. Celebrations are held each year in Mesa, Chandler, Guadalupe and at Arizona State University. Although the ritual has since been merged with Catholic theology, it still maintains the basic principles of the Aztec ritual, such as the use of skulls. Today, people don wooden skull masks called calacas and dance in honor of their deceased relatives. The wooden skulls are also placed on altars that are dedicated to the dead. Sugar skulls, made with the names of the dead person on the forehead, are eaten by a relative or friend, according to Mary J. Adrade, who has written three books on the ritual. The Aztecs and other Meso-American civilizations kept skulls as trophies and displayed them during the ritual. The skulls were used to symbolize death and rebirth. The skulls were used to honor the dead, whom the Aztecs and other Meso-American civilizations believed came back to visit during the monthlong ritual.
Unlike the Spaniards, who viewed death as the end of life, the natives viewed it as the continuation of life. Instead of fearing death, they embraced it. To them, life was a dream and only in death did they become truly awake. "The pre-Hispanic people honored duality as being dynamic," said Christina Gonzalez, senior lecturer on Hispanic issues at Arizona State University. "They didn't separate death from pain, wealth from poverty like they did in Western cultures." However, the Spaniards considered the ritual to be sacrilegious. They perceived the indigenous people to be barbaric and pagan. In their attempts to convert them to Catholicism, the Spaniards tried to kill the ritual. But like the old Aztec spirits, the ritual refused to die.
To make the ritual more Christian, the Spaniards moved it so it coincided with All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day (Nov. 1 and 2), which is when it is celebrated today.
Previously it fell on the ninth month of the Aztec Solar Calendar, approximately the beginning of August, and was celebrated for the entire month. Festivities were presided over by the goddess Mictecacihuatl. The goddess, known as "Lady of the Dead," was believed to have died at birth, Andrade said. Today, Day of the Dead is celebrated in Mexico and in certain parts of the United States and Central America.
The celebrations differ from place to place.In rural Mexico, people visit the cemetery where their loved ones are buried. They decorate gravesites with marigold flowers and candles. They bring toys for dead children and bottles of tequila to adults. They sit on picnic blankets next to gravesites and eat the favorite food of their loved ones. In Guadalupe, the ritual is celebrated much like it is in rural Mexico. In Guadalupe the people spend the day in the cemetery and they decorate graves.In Mesa, the ritual has evolved to include other cultures. In the United States and in Mexico's larger cities, families build altars in their homes, dedicating them to the dead. They surround these altars with flowers, food and pictures of the deceased. They light candles and place them next to the altar. On Sunday....I will be taking part in something similar...All Saints Sunday at my church. There will be an altar....there will be photos of loved ones and church members...there will be candles....there will be a celebration....and we will do When the Saints Go Marching In. It will be a time of prayer for those who have lost loved ones...not for the dead. Sigh....I build the altars at our service...so I guess that means no incense, no papel picado in purple, pink and white....hummmm I wonder if anyone would know why my altar cloths are those colors on Sunday? Awww...I will keep it to the traditional white cloth...with simple candles...no sugar skulls or Dead Bread...although...we are having communion....so pita bread will be present. LOL....you are wondering where I am headed with this...who knows...I am feeling a bit weird today....so I am just rambling. Have a great Friday....and whatever you chose to celebrate this weekend....be safe!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Snow Won't Stop!
I had to drive in the snow yesterday.
I didn’t have a choice.
I had to go to Tommy’s Parent/Teacher conference.
I was afraid. I hate driving in the snow.
Tom was unsympathetic as he left for work.
“It’s not bad. Deal with it.”
It’s easy for him to say since he has a gigantic truck.
I just have a tiny hybrid.
I was a little nervous when I first started out. I was gripping the wheel so hard that my knuckles were white.
“Are you okay, Mommy?” Tommy asked from the backseat.
“Mommy is great!” I squeaked.
“Are we going to die?” Tommy wondered.
“No. Not at all!” I was still speaking in a high-pitched tone. The snow was coming down at full force and the roads were icy. Oh, and my car was yelling at me because I wasn’t driving in an eco manner.
“I can’t! It’s snowing!” I snapped at the display. It doesn’t really yell. The display just turns this irritating shade of blue. I’m beginning to hate the color blue because of it. It’s all happy and green when you’re driving in a “green” manner. But heaven forbid you have to push on the gas!
When I finally made it to the school my eco score was pretty low. Yup, you get scored on how well you drive. “You stupid car! It’s snowing!” I said again. I know it can’t hear me. But I was on edge.
Basically, Tommy is doing really well in school. He got an excellent report card. He got all 3s, which means that he’s proficient in all areas. He’s still a few levels down where he should be in reading but on everything else, he’s in the normal range. I breathed a sigh of relief when the teacher told me this. I’ve always worried about Tommy. Probably since he was two and we realized he was speech delayed. He was never able to sit still in preschool and in Kindergarten he had all sorts of meltdowns. But now…now he’s doing great.
“He has some of the best manners I’ve ever seen,” the teacher added. “He always tells me ‘Bless you’ if I sneeze, always says ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”
I sat up proudly when she said that. I’ve always taught my kids manners from the beginning. It’s probably why Natalie screams, “No THANKS!” if she doesn’t want to do something.
“And Tommy doesn’t tell….inappropriate jokes at school?” I asked the teacher cautiously. At home he likes to talk abut his butt. I have no idea why.
“Not at all,” the teacher assured me.
Phew.
I guess the butt jokes are just a treat for me then. Nice.
So after that I had to drive back home in the snow.
Thankfully I made it home safely.
I had planned on going to Wal-Mart but there was no way I was driving in that weather. So I called Tom and said when he got off work that we’d all go.
“The roads aren’t bad!” Tom argued.
“Yes. For a TRUCK!” I shot back.
“Oh fine. I can pick up my pie things,” Tom agreed. (He’s obsessed with these little apple pies.)
So we went to Wal-Mart and I picked up a cake.
“What’s that for?” Tom wondered. He’s a little strange. He thinks that there always has to be a reason for cake.
“For your mother’s visit, of course!” I quickly said. I mean, why not?
I had the Wal-Mart worker write, “Welcome Grandma” on the cake.
“Oh. Is your Mom coming to visit?” the baker asked me as she scrolled out the words with frosting. Mmmmm. I wonder if I could swipe one of those frosting containers and run off with it…
“No. It’s my husband’s Mom,” I answered.
The baker looked up with a start, just as the cashier from yesterday had done. “Your mother in law?” She hissed the word as though it were naughty.
“Yes. But don’t worry, I get along with her.”
The baker raised an eyebrow. “People can get along with their mother-in-laws?”
I shrugged. “Apparently so!”
When I got the cake back, I set it in the cart and said to Tom, “That’s the second person I’ve met who’s surprised that I get along with my mother-in-law. It’s not so strange. I mean, you get along with my mother.”
Tom made a face. “Actually....” he began jokingly.
I smacked him lightly on the shoulder and he laughed.
“Okay! I do! But in the beginning I thought your mom was nuts!” He only thinks this because one time he came over for dinner and my Mom didn’t have sour cream. We were having tacos and apparently it’s his rule that you MUST have sour cream with tacos. So when Mom said, “Oh, we don’t use that,” he sort of blinked in surprise.
He later told me he wanted to yell, “NOOOOOOOO!” with his hands in the air.
He really loves his sour cream. He pays extra for it at Taco Bell even if we have some in the fridge.
Yes, this bugs me.
So anyhow, as I’ve mentioned before, my Mother-in-law comes Friday (if this snow lets up!) and I’ve been cleaning like mad. Tom has been stretched on the couch and when I shrieked, “Are you going to HELP?” he went, “Help with WHAT?” and I went, “Your mother’s VISIT!” He looked positively gobsmacked as though he’s never heard of the concept of anal cleaning when a visitor comes.
She’s here until Wednesday so if I’m not on that much, it’s because I’m entertaining.
And, you know, snacking on the delicious potato salad that she makes.
Rumor also has it that she’s going to make cookies....
I didn’t have a choice.
I had to go to Tommy’s Parent/Teacher conference.
I was afraid. I hate driving in the snow.
Tom was unsympathetic as he left for work.
“It’s not bad. Deal with it.”
It’s easy for him to say since he has a gigantic truck.
I just have a tiny hybrid.
I was a little nervous when I first started out. I was gripping the wheel so hard that my knuckles were white.
“Are you okay, Mommy?” Tommy asked from the backseat.
“Mommy is great!” I squeaked.
“Are we going to die?” Tommy wondered.
“No. Not at all!” I was still speaking in a high-pitched tone. The snow was coming down at full force and the roads were icy. Oh, and my car was yelling at me because I wasn’t driving in an eco manner.
“I can’t! It’s snowing!” I snapped at the display. It doesn’t really yell. The display just turns this irritating shade of blue. I’m beginning to hate the color blue because of it. It’s all happy and green when you’re driving in a “green” manner. But heaven forbid you have to push on the gas!
When I finally made it to the school my eco score was pretty low. Yup, you get scored on how well you drive. “You stupid car! It’s snowing!” I said again. I know it can’t hear me. But I was on edge.
Basically, Tommy is doing really well in school. He got an excellent report card. He got all 3s, which means that he’s proficient in all areas. He’s still a few levels down where he should be in reading but on everything else, he’s in the normal range. I breathed a sigh of relief when the teacher told me this. I’ve always worried about Tommy. Probably since he was two and we realized he was speech delayed. He was never able to sit still in preschool and in Kindergarten he had all sorts of meltdowns. But now…now he’s doing great.
“He has some of the best manners I’ve ever seen,” the teacher added. “He always tells me ‘Bless you’ if I sneeze, always says ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”
I sat up proudly when she said that. I’ve always taught my kids manners from the beginning. It’s probably why Natalie screams, “No THANKS!” if she doesn’t want to do something.
“And Tommy doesn’t tell….inappropriate jokes at school?” I asked the teacher cautiously. At home he likes to talk abut his butt. I have no idea why.
“Not at all,” the teacher assured me.
Phew.
I guess the butt jokes are just a treat for me then. Nice.
So after that I had to drive back home in the snow.
Thankfully I made it home safely.
I had planned on going to Wal-Mart but there was no way I was driving in that weather. So I called Tom and said when he got off work that we’d all go.
“The roads aren’t bad!” Tom argued.
“Yes. For a TRUCK!” I shot back.
“Oh fine. I can pick up my pie things,” Tom agreed. (He’s obsessed with these little apple pies.)
So we went to Wal-Mart and I picked up a cake.
“What’s that for?” Tom wondered. He’s a little strange. He thinks that there always has to be a reason for cake.
“For your mother’s visit, of course!” I quickly said. I mean, why not?
I had the Wal-Mart worker write, “Welcome Grandma” on the cake.
“Oh. Is your Mom coming to visit?” the baker asked me as she scrolled out the words with frosting. Mmmmm. I wonder if I could swipe one of those frosting containers and run off with it…
“No. It’s my husband’s Mom,” I answered.
The baker looked up with a start, just as the cashier from yesterday had done. “Your mother in law?” She hissed the word as though it were naughty.
“Yes. But don’t worry, I get along with her.”
The baker raised an eyebrow. “People can get along with their mother-in-laws?”
I shrugged. “Apparently so!”
When I got the cake back, I set it in the cart and said to Tom, “That’s the second person I’ve met who’s surprised that I get along with my mother-in-law. It’s not so strange. I mean, you get along with my mother.”
Tom made a face. “Actually....” he began jokingly.
I smacked him lightly on the shoulder and he laughed.
“Okay! I do! But in the beginning I thought your mom was nuts!” He only thinks this because one time he came over for dinner and my Mom didn’t have sour cream. We were having tacos and apparently it’s his rule that you MUST have sour cream with tacos. So when Mom said, “Oh, we don’t use that,” he sort of blinked in surprise.
He later told me he wanted to yell, “NOOOOOOOO!” with his hands in the air.
He really loves his sour cream. He pays extra for it at Taco Bell even if we have some in the fridge.
Yes, this bugs me.
So anyhow, as I’ve mentioned before, my Mother-in-law comes Friday (if this snow lets up!) and I’ve been cleaning like mad. Tom has been stretched on the couch and when I shrieked, “Are you going to HELP?” he went, “Help with WHAT?” and I went, “Your mother’s VISIT!” He looked positively gobsmacked as though he’s never heard of the concept of anal cleaning when a visitor comes.
She’s here until Wednesday so if I’m not on that much, it’s because I’m entertaining.
And, you know, snacking on the delicious potato salad that she makes.
Rumor also has it that she’s going to make cookies....
I've Got People!
I went to counseling this week...and learned something I already knew...but guess I needed a reminder of it. I have a great circle of support. I mean...GREAT! I have friends who will cry with me, laugh with me, love me, hold me, clean up dirty messes for me, mourn with me, celebrate with me. I am one lucky person and I am blessed. One of the other great things about my circle of support is that I have a God who is there no matter what. No matter how lousy I am, no matter how hurt, low, high whatever...He is right there beside me. How can I miss? I am a truly fortunate one! I am blessed for sure. I have been writing thank you notes for the past week and have been amazed at how they continue to multiple...why? My parents have people...and so do I...wonderful people! John 15:13-15 tells us that "13 Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. 14 You are my friends if you do what I command. 15 I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." I have learned a valuable lesson lately and that is that Jesus set a level for love that in a word is supreme. Jesus loves me and everyone else with a level of love that we will never be able to fully comprehend. Jesus came to this earth with one purpose in mind, laying down His life for us. After all I have experienced with my friends lately...I believe He was right there in all of them...smiling and loving me really good. I hope that I can return the favor and be that kind of friend to each of them. I want to be intune to my friends/family. Being a Friend of Christ means that you have His sacrifice (13)Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. My friends(and that includes my family)...have love like that. I am glad. Gene Blair, a man I work with sent my dear Mary a you tube video by Michael W. Smith (a Contemporary Christian artist that I love)...the song is called...Help is On the Way....I want to share it with you right now...because it has become my song....I was drowning in sadness...but Help found me...because my friends were holding me til it got there. O Happy Day!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I'm Not Vern
So yesterday I had to go to the grocery store.
It’s normally not busy at all.
But yesterday....it was packed. I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t payday.
Then I got excited.
Maybe they were having a sale!
I love sales.
I got inside and looked around. There was no sale.
So…what was everyone doing there?
I pulled my list out and started walking down the aisles. There were people everywhere! One old lady crashed her cart into the back of my ankles and called me Vern. She was all, “Vern, grab some green beans,” as she stared down at her list and I just quickly walked away with throbbing feet.
Who were all these people?
I swear, I usually always go grocery shopping on Tuesday and it’s never been that bad.
Was there a celebrity signing?
I craned my neck and didn’t see anyone.
I mean, I thought I spotted Michelle Duggar but it wasn’t her after all.
At least Tom wasn’t with me. Crowded areas make him nervous. And then he’ll start going into one of his rants where he’ll say things like, “There are too many people in the world. There should be a limit of 2 kids each and that’s it!”
I’m not a fan of crowds either but I deal with it.
I got crashed into two more times. But at least I wasn’t called Vern again.
As I was throwing hot dogs into the cart, an old lady saddled up beside me and was stretching to reach some sausage on the top shelf.
“Do you need help?” I asked kindly.
I thought she’d be all, “Oh, thank you! Young people rock!”
Instead she looked me up and down and went, “You’re no taller than I am! What help will you be?”
Oh.
Well.
For the record, I could have reached the top shelf. And if I couldn’t, I throw products at the item I want until it falls down. I’ve done this before. Or I swing my purse around until the thing I want is within my reach. My purse can be used as an oversized claw, you see.
Anyhow, a guy overheard the woman and went, “I’ll help you.”
But the woman glared at him and went, “You’re not tall either! Is this base full of short people or what?”
Goodness me. The guy actually looked like he wanted to throw the sausage at her. But instead he calmly reached over, grabbed the sausage she had been reaching for and handed it over.
“I’m tall enough,” he said, winking at her before he walked away.
I heard the old lady mutter, “You’re pretty short,” as I left.
Then came the long line. It was stretched to the back of the store.
Seriously, what was UP?
I found out my answer.
It turns out people were in a panic over the snowstorm that we’re supposed to have and they all rushed to the store for food.
I kept Natalie entertained by giving her my cell phone. One time she locked me out of it and I had no idea how to unlock it. I figured out how in the end but now I forget what I did.
When we finally made it to the register, I was relieved. And hungry. My stomach kept growling which is probably why I threw in that King Sized Butterfinger bar.
Mmmmm. Butterfinger.
The cashier recognized me and started cooing at Natalie, who promptly covered her face.
“Why does she always do that? She’s seen me plenty of times. It’s ME, darling!” the lady shouted as though this should mean something.
I wanted to say, “I don’t know, Lady. Maybe your blue hair throws her off. She doesn’t know if you’re a human being or a Smurf.”
“Looks like you’re making some good stuff,” the cashier said conversationally as she scanned my items.
I nodded. “Yup. My mother-in-law is coming to visit Friday for a few days.”
The cashier abruptly stopped and looked at me with round eyes. “Your mother-in-law? My sympathies.”
“Oh. No, it’s okay. I like my mother-in-law. We get along,” I added, because the cashier had recoiled when I had said that I liked my mother-in-law as though she had never heard such a thing.
“I don’t get along with mine,” the cashier said, resuming in scanning my things.
“That’s too bad,” I answered.
The cashier shrugged. “At least she lives in Florida. So she doesn’t come here often because heaven forbid if it were to snow. She’d flip out. Then she has this irritating yap yap dog that she refuses to leave and I’m sorry, I don’t want that thing running around the inside of my car.”
“Oh,” was all I could think of to say as I paid for the groceries with my debit card.
“Well, good luck with the visit. I know you said you guys get along but you just never know with mother-in-laws,” the cashier said, handing over my receipt.
“Everything will be great,” I assured her.
She didn’t look convinced.
But really. I’m looking forward on seeing my mother-in-law.
Did I mention that she’s a really good cook?
I imagine when Tom married me and figured out that I was an awful cook that he wanted to be like, “Erm. Can I have my Mom back?”
It’s normally not busy at all.
But yesterday....it was packed. I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t payday.
Then I got excited.
Maybe they were having a sale!
I love sales.
I got inside and looked around. There was no sale.
So…what was everyone doing there?
I pulled my list out and started walking down the aisles. There were people everywhere! One old lady crashed her cart into the back of my ankles and called me Vern. She was all, “Vern, grab some green beans,” as she stared down at her list and I just quickly walked away with throbbing feet.
Who were all these people?
I swear, I usually always go grocery shopping on Tuesday and it’s never been that bad.
Was there a celebrity signing?
I craned my neck and didn’t see anyone.
I mean, I thought I spotted Michelle Duggar but it wasn’t her after all.
At least Tom wasn’t with me. Crowded areas make him nervous. And then he’ll start going into one of his rants where he’ll say things like, “There are too many people in the world. There should be a limit of 2 kids each and that’s it!”
I’m not a fan of crowds either but I deal with it.
I got crashed into two more times. But at least I wasn’t called Vern again.
As I was throwing hot dogs into the cart, an old lady saddled up beside me and was stretching to reach some sausage on the top shelf.
“Do you need help?” I asked kindly.
I thought she’d be all, “Oh, thank you! Young people rock!”
Instead she looked me up and down and went, “You’re no taller than I am! What help will you be?”
Oh.
Well.
For the record, I could have reached the top shelf. And if I couldn’t, I throw products at the item I want until it falls down. I’ve done this before. Or I swing my purse around until the thing I want is within my reach. My purse can be used as an oversized claw, you see.
Anyhow, a guy overheard the woman and went, “I’ll help you.”
But the woman glared at him and went, “You’re not tall either! Is this base full of short people or what?”
Goodness me. The guy actually looked like he wanted to throw the sausage at her. But instead he calmly reached over, grabbed the sausage she had been reaching for and handed it over.
“I’m tall enough,” he said, winking at her before he walked away.
I heard the old lady mutter, “You’re pretty short,” as I left.
Then came the long line. It was stretched to the back of the store.
Seriously, what was UP?
I found out my answer.
It turns out people were in a panic over the snowstorm that we’re supposed to have and they all rushed to the store for food.
I kept Natalie entertained by giving her my cell phone. One time she locked me out of it and I had no idea how to unlock it. I figured out how in the end but now I forget what I did.
When we finally made it to the register, I was relieved. And hungry. My stomach kept growling which is probably why I threw in that King Sized Butterfinger bar.
Mmmmm. Butterfinger.
The cashier recognized me and started cooing at Natalie, who promptly covered her face.
“Why does she always do that? She’s seen me plenty of times. It’s ME, darling!” the lady shouted as though this should mean something.
I wanted to say, “I don’t know, Lady. Maybe your blue hair throws her off. She doesn’t know if you’re a human being or a Smurf.”
“Looks like you’re making some good stuff,” the cashier said conversationally as she scanned my items.
I nodded. “Yup. My mother-in-law is coming to visit Friday for a few days.”
The cashier abruptly stopped and looked at me with round eyes. “Your mother-in-law? My sympathies.”
“Oh. No, it’s okay. I like my mother-in-law. We get along,” I added, because the cashier had recoiled when I had said that I liked my mother-in-law as though she had never heard such a thing.
“I don’t get along with mine,” the cashier said, resuming in scanning my things.
“That’s too bad,” I answered.
The cashier shrugged. “At least she lives in Florida. So she doesn’t come here often because heaven forbid if it were to snow. She’d flip out. Then she has this irritating yap yap dog that she refuses to leave and I’m sorry, I don’t want that thing running around the inside of my car.”
“Oh,” was all I could think of to say as I paid for the groceries with my debit card.
“Well, good luck with the visit. I know you said you guys get along but you just never know with mother-in-laws,” the cashier said, handing over my receipt.
“Everything will be great,” I assured her.
She didn’t look convinced.
But really. I’m looking forward on seeing my mother-in-law.
Did I mention that she’s a really good cook?
I imagine when Tom married me and figured out that I was an awful cook that he wanted to be like, “Erm. Can I have my Mom back?”
Coming Home and Finding Peace
Woo Hoo...my mom is coming home today. Well...not exactly home...but back to the Dadeville Healthcare Center. She is being brought by ambulance so that we are not associated with the placement this time. She has been doing well at Brookwood. The only aggitation they have seen is in the morning during bath time....and that is part of dementia. They do not like baths. I find that odd. The Social Worker, Kelly, asked me not to be there when she arrived so that she could be settled down from the move. She said she thought it would be a good idea for us to go and see her after work. That way she would know that she is loved. Loved? Of course I love her...she is my mom. I am a bit apprehensive about this afternoon. I love my mother....I just hope I will love the person that is inhabiting her body now. I hope I get a glimpse of the old mom....to be honest...I just want a hug. I want to feel my mom's arms wrap around me...and pat me on the back. I know that may not happen...but in my heart of hearts I hope today it does. Frank is going with me...and he too is apprehensive about this. At first he did not want to go...but then thought about it and decided he loves her...and would go with me. Sigh...so we will face this challenge together. We went to counseling on Monday. I was nervous all day long. We waited in the outer office for the counselor to come and get us...and then we sat on a couch and spilled our guts for the next hour....she would ask us questions...and we would answer. She seemed very surprised that we seemed so close. She said in her summation...that the past 4.5 years would have been hard on any marriage...but it seemed to have drawn us closer together. I knew that! Griefus. Many times during the past few years I don't think I would have survived without Frank. He has been a God send. What a guy. I don't know what normal is going to be for us...but the Counselor said we were going to be ok!....then she rephrased that and said we were going to be better than OK. I liked that concept. I left feeling OK....for the first time in a long time. Life will go on...and we will find a new normal. Pray that my mother finds peace and an ability to live without my father. Happy Wednesday to you all!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
When I Was Sick....
I woke up on Saturday and I knew right away.
I was sick.
My mouth felt as though I had been sucking on a cotton ball all night.
My head throbbed.
My nose was all plugged up.
When I shuffled downstairs I found Tom on the couch with Natalie.
“Good morning,” Tom said, not bothering to tear his eyes away from the screen. Spongebob was on after all.
“Fkljdafklj,” I mumbled, heading for the kitchen to get some water. When I walked back out with my glass of water, Tom took a good look at me.
“GEEZ!” he said, jumping slightly.
“What?” I croaked.
“You look….you don’t look well,” Tom finally admitted.
Well duh. I already knew that my hair was standing up on end and that my eyes were bloodshot. My already pale skin looked even paler.
“I’m sick,” I complained.
Tom made a face as though he were worried that I was going to infect him. “Then go back to bed. You’re scaring Natalie!”
“I am not scaring—” I began, but then I saw Natalie cowering back against Tom and gazing at me in horror. “Fine. I’ll go.”
So I went back upstairs and passed by Tommy’s bedroom. He was building Legos and when he saw me he did a double take.
“Mommy? Are you dying?” he asked bluntly. He’s been really interested in death lately. The other day he swallowed his food wrong and started coughing and in between the coughs he wailed, “I don’t want to die now!” He’s sort of like that kid on Kindergarten Cop who is all, “Everyone dies you know.”
“I’m not dying, Tommy. I’m just sick. I’m going to lie down,” I explained.
Tommy surveyed me with a wrinkled nose. “Do you have the swine flu?” He’s learned about that through school.
“No, Tommy. I just need to rest.”
“Have you been washing your hands? You have to wash your hands, otherwise you’ll get sick,” Tom prattled on, following me.
“I washed my hands, Tommy,” I assured him as I climbed onto the bed.
“I’ll tuck you in,” Tommy said generously. His version of tucking me in was tossing the blankets over my head. “There!” He said to my covered ear. “You’ll be extra warm this way.”
That’s how Tommy sleeps. I’ll go in and check on him before I head off to bed and he’s always covered from head to toe.
“Thank you, Tommy,” I said, my voice muffled.
“You’re welcome, Mommy,” Tommy said grandly before he left the room.
I can’t sleep with covers over my head so I pushed them down under my armpits. I fell asleep soon after that. When I woke up, I found Tom in the kitchen. And he was…cooking?
“You’re not supposed to be up now. I was going to surprise you with devilled eggs,” Tom lectured, wagging his finger. (I love devilled eggs by the way. I just hate making them.)
My eyes scanned the room. The kitchen was…clean. The night before I had left the dishes from the brownies. Now they were all washed. The counters had also been scrubbed.
“You cleaned!” I said. I would have leaped in the air from excitement but I didn’t have the strength.
“And cooked,” Tom added, pointing to some eggs that were boiling on the stove.
“You cleaned,” I repeated.
“And cooked,” Tom said again.
I thanked him and then settled down on the couch. Natalie was down for her nap so I was looking forward to catching up on some DVRed shows. But then Tom all of a sudden came in and swiped the remote control.
“Want to watch Spongebob?” he asked seriously.
I was confused. None of the kids were in the room. Natalie was sleeping and Tommy was outside with his friends. Why in the world would I want to watch a child’s cartoon?
“No thanks,” I said sweetly. “I’m going to watch my recorded Grey’s Anatomy.”
Tom switched the channel to Spongebob. “Let’s watch this.”
“I don’t want to watch Spongebob!”
Tom frowned at me. “Well, I don’t want to watch Grey’s. Someone always cries in that show. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an episode where someone wasn’t crying. It’s like, hey doctors, grow some balls and deal with it.”
I glared at him. “Sometimes they cry because a patient has been through so much and they just want to HELP the patient.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The show sucks.” He gestured to the TV with the remote. “Now Spongebob on the other hand makes sense.”
I gaped at him. “How? In this episode Spongebob and Patrick are raising a baby clam! That makes no sense!”
“It makes perfect sense! It’s hilarious!”
I groaned. “Just…watch what you want. I’ll read.”
Then later on I put some bratwurst on the Foreman Grill. I couldn’t have one. The smell made my stomach turn.
I asked Tom if he could clean the Foreman Grill so I could go rest and this is when he got a hissy fit.
“I’ve been busting my ass today. How much more do you want me to do?” Tom complained.
!!!!!!!!!!
I gave him the finger. I would have started one of my favorite passionate speeches on how hard I work on a daily basis but the room started to spin and I had to lie down on the couch. I really don’t think the speech would have gone well had I collapsed on the floor, you see.
Tom apologized soon after that. I pretended not to see him when he first walked into the living room.
“Amber,” he said, standing in front of me.
I stared in the other direction. Yes, I can behave like a child.
“Amber,” Tom tried again.
Lalala, you don’t exist.
“Amber.” Now Tom stuck his face right in front of mine. He really does have pretty blue eyes. But…I couldn’t think about that. I was mad at him. Busting his ass, indeed.
“I’m sorry. But you have to understand that I work hard during the week and—” he started.
“Do you think I don’t work hard? Tom, I take care of a household, two kids and a cat who thinks it’s funny to puke all over the place. I have a two year old who attacks me, a seven year old who continuously asks me questions about death….and I don’t even get to PEE alone!” I wailed.
Tom blinked at me. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sick so you should want to help me. When you’re sick you act like a total baby and expect me to cater to you,” I pointed out.
Tom made a face “I don’t think I act like a baby.”
I nodded. “You do! You speak in a higher pitched voice that grates on my nerves and act as though you’ve lost a limb or something.”
Tom still looked perplexed. “I don’t recall…”
“You do. Trust me.”
Tom sighed and gathered me into his arms. “I love you. Even if you do have crazy hair and smell like sweat.”
My jaw dropped open. “I do not smell like sweat.”
Tom sniffed me. “I beg to differ.”
The good news is, the next day I woke up feeling better. And now I’m nearly 100% again save for a stuffy nose.
I may have to bake some cookies to celebrate.
I was sick.
My mouth felt as though I had been sucking on a cotton ball all night.
My head throbbed.
My nose was all plugged up.
When I shuffled downstairs I found Tom on the couch with Natalie.
“Good morning,” Tom said, not bothering to tear his eyes away from the screen. Spongebob was on after all.
“Fkljdafklj,” I mumbled, heading for the kitchen to get some water. When I walked back out with my glass of water, Tom took a good look at me.
“GEEZ!” he said, jumping slightly.
“What?” I croaked.
“You look….you don’t look well,” Tom finally admitted.
Well duh. I already knew that my hair was standing up on end and that my eyes were bloodshot. My already pale skin looked even paler.
“I’m sick,” I complained.
Tom made a face as though he were worried that I was going to infect him. “Then go back to bed. You’re scaring Natalie!”
“I am not scaring—” I began, but then I saw Natalie cowering back against Tom and gazing at me in horror. “Fine. I’ll go.”
So I went back upstairs and passed by Tommy’s bedroom. He was building Legos and when he saw me he did a double take.
“Mommy? Are you dying?” he asked bluntly. He’s been really interested in death lately. The other day he swallowed his food wrong and started coughing and in between the coughs he wailed, “I don’t want to die now!” He’s sort of like that kid on Kindergarten Cop who is all, “Everyone dies you know.”
“I’m not dying, Tommy. I’m just sick. I’m going to lie down,” I explained.
Tommy surveyed me with a wrinkled nose. “Do you have the swine flu?” He’s learned about that through school.
“No, Tommy. I just need to rest.”
“Have you been washing your hands? You have to wash your hands, otherwise you’ll get sick,” Tom prattled on, following me.
“I washed my hands, Tommy,” I assured him as I climbed onto the bed.
“I’ll tuck you in,” Tommy said generously. His version of tucking me in was tossing the blankets over my head. “There!” He said to my covered ear. “You’ll be extra warm this way.”
That’s how Tommy sleeps. I’ll go in and check on him before I head off to bed and he’s always covered from head to toe.
“Thank you, Tommy,” I said, my voice muffled.
“You’re welcome, Mommy,” Tommy said grandly before he left the room.
I can’t sleep with covers over my head so I pushed them down under my armpits. I fell asleep soon after that. When I woke up, I found Tom in the kitchen. And he was…cooking?
“You’re not supposed to be up now. I was going to surprise you with devilled eggs,” Tom lectured, wagging his finger. (I love devilled eggs by the way. I just hate making them.)
My eyes scanned the room. The kitchen was…clean. The night before I had left the dishes from the brownies. Now they were all washed. The counters had also been scrubbed.
“You cleaned!” I said. I would have leaped in the air from excitement but I didn’t have the strength.
“And cooked,” Tom added, pointing to some eggs that were boiling on the stove.
“You cleaned,” I repeated.
“And cooked,” Tom said again.
I thanked him and then settled down on the couch. Natalie was down for her nap so I was looking forward to catching up on some DVRed shows. But then Tom all of a sudden came in and swiped the remote control.
“Want to watch Spongebob?” he asked seriously.
I was confused. None of the kids were in the room. Natalie was sleeping and Tommy was outside with his friends. Why in the world would I want to watch a child’s cartoon?
“No thanks,” I said sweetly. “I’m going to watch my recorded Grey’s Anatomy.”
Tom switched the channel to Spongebob. “Let’s watch this.”
“I don’t want to watch Spongebob!”
Tom frowned at me. “Well, I don’t want to watch Grey’s. Someone always cries in that show. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an episode where someone wasn’t crying. It’s like, hey doctors, grow some balls and deal with it.”
I glared at him. “Sometimes they cry because a patient has been through so much and they just want to HELP the patient.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The show sucks.” He gestured to the TV with the remote. “Now Spongebob on the other hand makes sense.”
I gaped at him. “How? In this episode Spongebob and Patrick are raising a baby clam! That makes no sense!”
“It makes perfect sense! It’s hilarious!”
I groaned. “Just…watch what you want. I’ll read.”
Then later on I put some bratwurst on the Foreman Grill. I couldn’t have one. The smell made my stomach turn.
I asked Tom if he could clean the Foreman Grill so I could go rest and this is when he got a hissy fit.
“I’ve been busting my ass today. How much more do you want me to do?” Tom complained.
!!!!!!!!!!
I gave him the finger. I would have started one of my favorite passionate speeches on how hard I work on a daily basis but the room started to spin and I had to lie down on the couch. I really don’t think the speech would have gone well had I collapsed on the floor, you see.
Tom apologized soon after that. I pretended not to see him when he first walked into the living room.
“Amber,” he said, standing in front of me.
I stared in the other direction. Yes, I can behave like a child.
“Amber,” Tom tried again.
Lalala, you don’t exist.
“Amber.” Now Tom stuck his face right in front of mine. He really does have pretty blue eyes. But…I couldn’t think about that. I was mad at him. Busting his ass, indeed.
“I’m sorry. But you have to understand that I work hard during the week and—” he started.
“Do you think I don’t work hard? Tom, I take care of a household, two kids and a cat who thinks it’s funny to puke all over the place. I have a two year old who attacks me, a seven year old who continuously asks me questions about death….and I don’t even get to PEE alone!” I wailed.
Tom blinked at me. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sick so you should want to help me. When you’re sick you act like a total baby and expect me to cater to you,” I pointed out.
Tom made a face “I don’t think I act like a baby.”
I nodded. “You do! You speak in a higher pitched voice that grates on my nerves and act as though you’ve lost a limb or something.”
Tom still looked perplexed. “I don’t recall…”
“You do. Trust me.”
Tom sighed and gathered me into his arms. “I love you. Even if you do have crazy hair and smell like sweat.”
My jaw dropped open. “I do not smell like sweat.”
Tom sniffed me. “I beg to differ.”
The good news is, the next day I woke up feeling better. And now I’m nearly 100% again save for a stuffy nose.
I may have to bake some cookies to celebrate.
Monday, October 26, 2009
The Taste of Defeat?
So it’s no secret that my husband Tom prefers Duncan Hines brownies above all others. He’s always been like this.
I even tried to trick him not too long ago. I made Betty Crocker brownies and told him that they were Duncan Hines. But he figured it out.
I decided to make brownies on Friday. They were Betty Crocker. And they had delicious chocolate chunks in them.
Tom was instantly repulsed. “What’s this?” he demanded, staring at the Betty Crocker box in horror as it sat on the counter. “What’s this?”
He was seriously disgusted. You’d have thought that I put a fart jar on the counter or something.
“Brownies. I felt like brownies tonight,” I explained simply.
Tom immediately started going through the cabinets. “Do we have Duncan Hines?” He pushed aside boxes and frowned when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.
“These are all we have. So if you want some, you’ll have to deal,” I said with a shrug. Usually I do get Duncan Hines. But this box was on sale. And plus, I’m not always in the mood to cater to Tom’s picky eating.
“You know that all I want is Duncan Hines! Didn’t you see their commercials? The commercial even says, “It’s not just—” Tom started to recite.
“I know. I know. The commercial says that it’s not just a brownie,” I finished, rubbing my temples. I had been dealing with a headache for a few hours and I couldn’t seem to shake it. Tom’s complaining wasn’t helping it any.
“So if you know that, why would you bring these,” Tom flicked the Betty Crocker box, “into the house?”
“Maybe sometimes I get tired of Duncan Hines,” I replied.
Tom placed a hand over his heart. “You’re just cruel.”
I rolled my eyes and started making the brownies. I offered Tom the extra batter and he sniffed the bowl for a few seconds. Then he timidly stuck his finger in, sniffed his finger and finally placed it in his mouth.
“It tastes funny,” he finally said. “It’s the taste of…defeat.”
I ignored him.
I thought the batter was delicious.
“And why do these brownies have chocolate chunks in them? That’s too much chocolate!” Tom continued to rant.
Too much chocolate? There is no such thing. But Tom has said the too much chocolate thing before. We went out to Chilis for the 2 for $20 deal and got that chocolate molten lava cake for dessert and Tom took one bite and went, “This is too much chocolate.”
Sometimes I swear that he had to have been dropped as a baby.
When the brownies were ready, I happily dug into them.
Tom even had one.
“Aha!” I shouted, pointing at him.
Tom shrugged. “I want brownies. These will have to do.” Then he sniffed it. “They smell funny too. It’s the smell of defeat.” He nibbled on it and sighed. “Blech.” He made a face but ate it anyway.
A few minutes later he was all, “They have a weird aftertaste, don’t they?”
I sighed. “No, Tom. They don’t.”
“What am I tasting then?”
“I don’t know, Tom. The taste of defeat?” I asked in a mocking tone.
Tom made a face at me. “Actually, that probably is what it is.”
I was about to argue with him but then my stomach lurched.
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“I know! You agree with me, right? They taste weird,” Tom said.
I shook my head. “No, you idiot. It’s not the brownies. I think I’m getting sick.”
“Because of the brownies!” Tom insisted.
“NO TOM!” I practically yelled. Then my head started pounding to the point where I had to lie down on the couch.
Tom covered me with a blanket. “Next time you’ll get Duncan Hines, right?” he said sweetly, tucking the covers under my chin.
“It’s not the brownies, Tom. I’ve been feeling off all day,” I argued weakly.
“Next time, get Duncan Hines and everything will be okay,” Tom assured me.
I didn’t even bother to correct him. All I kept thinking was, “I can’t get sick. I don’t have TIME to be sick…Moms don’t get a sick day…”
I even tried to trick him not too long ago. I made Betty Crocker brownies and told him that they were Duncan Hines. But he figured it out.
I decided to make brownies on Friday. They were Betty Crocker. And they had delicious chocolate chunks in them.
Tom was instantly repulsed. “What’s this?” he demanded, staring at the Betty Crocker box in horror as it sat on the counter. “What’s this?”
He was seriously disgusted. You’d have thought that I put a fart jar on the counter or something.
“Brownies. I felt like brownies tonight,” I explained simply.
Tom immediately started going through the cabinets. “Do we have Duncan Hines?” He pushed aside boxes and frowned when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.
“These are all we have. So if you want some, you’ll have to deal,” I said with a shrug. Usually I do get Duncan Hines. But this box was on sale. And plus, I’m not always in the mood to cater to Tom’s picky eating.
“You know that all I want is Duncan Hines! Didn’t you see their commercials? The commercial even says, “It’s not just—” Tom started to recite.
“I know. I know. The commercial says that it’s not just a brownie,” I finished, rubbing my temples. I had been dealing with a headache for a few hours and I couldn’t seem to shake it. Tom’s complaining wasn’t helping it any.
“So if you know that, why would you bring these,” Tom flicked the Betty Crocker box, “into the house?”
“Maybe sometimes I get tired of Duncan Hines,” I replied.
Tom placed a hand over his heart. “You’re just cruel.”
I rolled my eyes and started making the brownies. I offered Tom the extra batter and he sniffed the bowl for a few seconds. Then he timidly stuck his finger in, sniffed his finger and finally placed it in his mouth.
“It tastes funny,” he finally said. “It’s the taste of…defeat.”
I ignored him.
I thought the batter was delicious.
“And why do these brownies have chocolate chunks in them? That’s too much chocolate!” Tom continued to rant.
Too much chocolate? There is no such thing. But Tom has said the too much chocolate thing before. We went out to Chilis for the 2 for $20 deal and got that chocolate molten lava cake for dessert and Tom took one bite and went, “This is too much chocolate.”
Sometimes I swear that he had to have been dropped as a baby.
When the brownies were ready, I happily dug into them.
Tom even had one.
“Aha!” I shouted, pointing at him.
Tom shrugged. “I want brownies. These will have to do.” Then he sniffed it. “They smell funny too. It’s the smell of defeat.” He nibbled on it and sighed. “Blech.” He made a face but ate it anyway.
A few minutes later he was all, “They have a weird aftertaste, don’t they?”
I sighed. “No, Tom. They don’t.”
“What am I tasting then?”
“I don’t know, Tom. The taste of defeat?” I asked in a mocking tone.
Tom made a face at me. “Actually, that probably is what it is.”
I was about to argue with him but then my stomach lurched.
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“I know! You agree with me, right? They taste weird,” Tom said.
I shook my head. “No, you idiot. It’s not the brownies. I think I’m getting sick.”
“Because of the brownies!” Tom insisted.
“NO TOM!” I practically yelled. Then my head started pounding to the point where I had to lie down on the couch.
Tom covered me with a blanket. “Next time you’ll get Duncan Hines, right?” he said sweetly, tucking the covers under my chin.
“It’s not the brownies, Tom. I’ve been feeling off all day,” I argued weakly.
“Next time, get Duncan Hines and everything will be okay,” Tom assured me.
I didn’t even bother to correct him. All I kept thinking was, “I can’t get sick. I don’t have TIME to be sick…Moms don’t get a sick day…”
Friday, October 23, 2009
A Trip to Kohls
I was beginning to lose my patience.
I had walked into the living room that I had just picked up a few minutes before to find it covered with toys again. A bowl of Cheerios was strewn all over the carpet. I threw my hands in the air and shrieked, “How am I supposed to keep this house clean?”
Then the phone rang. It was Tom letting me know that he’d be coming home soon.
“Are you okay?” he wondered, noticing my wobbly voice.
“No. I’m not okay. No one listens to me in the house. Not even the cat! Natalie got a hold of the toothpaste and squeezed it all over the bathroom. She’s refusing to eat and I swear she calls me mean names under her breath. She keeps taking off her clothes and when I attempted to put them back on her she tried to bi—aye…aye…te me,” I wailed. A few frustrated tears dripped down my cheeks.
I think Tom was sorry that he asked.
“Well,” he said cautiously. He could tell I was in one of my moods where I can twist anything he says and turn it into an insult towards me. “Maybe when I get back you should go out.”
“Are you kicking me out of the house?” I demanded. First my daughter tries to bite me and now my husband was kicking me out of the house. But then I thought about this….I could get out of the house. Alone. Without kids. I could…shop in peace. “Actually, that sounds great. Kohls is having a sale,” I sniffled.
I love Kohls. I’m even a MVC (most valued customer.)
So the second Tom walked through the door, I practically ran out of the house. I went, “Bye, love you!” over my shoulder and leaped into the car before he could change his mind.
As I walked towards the entrance of Kohls, I took a deep breath of fresh air, relishing in the fact that I was alone. Of course after I took that deep breath I sneezed and coughed because I probably inhaled dust or something. But still.
The second I strolled through the front doors a worker greeted me. I nearly grabbed a cart with a seat attached to it because I’m so used to plopping Natalie in there.
“Whoops. I won’t be needing that one. It’s just me today. It’s just me,” I said, grabbing a regular cart.
The teenaged worker appeared to be a tad startled. “Okay?” she said, backing away as though she thought I was going to swing my purse at her. She doesn’t understand now but she will when she has kids, mark my words.
I headed for the clearance racks first and found a pair of size 3 shorts for three bucks. Three bucks! And okay, I’m not exactly size 3. I’m a size 5 on a good day. But for three bucks, surely I could squeeze my ass into a size 3.
Um. Wrong.
For starters, I could barely pull the things up. I grunted to the point where I think the other people in the changing room thought that I was taking a dump. But I wasn’t going to let a pair of three dollar shorts defeat me. No sir.
“I will get you on!” I muttered, yanking determinedly at the fabric. And then, okay, I heard a little bit of a rip so I knew I’d have to buy them anyhow. I finally did get the things over my hips but then I wasn’t able to button them. I heaved in my gut and it didn’t work. So then I sat down on the bench and took a deep breath and managed to slip the button through the hole.
“I did it!” I gasped out.
I gasped because I couldn’t fully breathe properly. But breathing is overrated, right? I think the shorts may have caused permanent damage on my bladder. But who cares? Size 3!
And okay, when I had the shorts on I had a pinched expression on my face as though something was wedged up my butt—and technically, the material was wedged up my butt since there is so much of my butt these days thanks to Halloween candy…
But maybe the shorts will inspire me to lose weight. When I look at them I’ll be all, “Do I want to be able to wear these comfortably during the summer? Do I want to end up on PeopleofWalmart.com? Because I’ll end up on PeopleofWalmart.com if I were to wear these in the state that I’m in now. And I cannot end up on that site because then people will be all, “Hey! Where do I know you from?” and I’ll say hopefully, “Well, I do write a blog…” and they’ll say, “No! You were on PeopleofWalmart.com! You were the chick with her ass hanging out of a pair of shorts that were really too small for her.”
I can’t bring that humiliation to this family. I just can’t.
So when it gets closer to warm weather, I’ll have to force myself in the gym. And I’ll have to only allow myself one Reeses Peanut Butter Cup a day. Maybe two. Three at the max.
It took a few minutes to take the shorts back off. Then I went to the children’s section and found these ultra adorable panda pajamas for Natalie. Sure she may have enough pajamas but these had pandas on them and they were 60% off. I also picked up a pair of Christmas pajamas for Tommy as well as a pair of jeans. He had 8 pairs of pants at the beginning of the school year and now he’s down to 4. This is because he plays rough and the knees of the pants get all white and holey and I just can’t send him to school in pants like that even though Tom says that no one cares.
I also bought new pillows for our couch because our current ones have weird stains all over them.
When I returned home, I walked in with this gigantic bag that looked as though I had bought half the store. And I didn’t, I swear! It was just because the cashier had stuffed everything in one bag with my permission. I do try to Go Green and all. I should bring my own bags in but sometimes I forget to put on my pants so let’s be honest, I doubt I’d even remember to bring my own bags inside the store.
“How much did you buy?” Tom demanded. His eyes practically bugged out of his head.
“Don’t worry. It’s the couch pillows,” I explained, pulling them out.
“The COUCH pillows?” Tom was agog. He smacked our current stained ones. “We have couch pillows.”
“Those are stained and they smell like old cheese. These are fresh non-stained couch pillows,” I said, rubbing my palm against them.
Tom’s brows were still furrowed. “What else did you get?”
I pulled out the ultra adorable panda pajamas. “Panda pajamas!’ I cooed. Natalie rushed over and hugged them to her chest.
“I thought she had pajamas?” Tom wondered.
“Not ones with pandas on them. And plus, they were 60% off. I practically had to buy them.”
Tom didn’t look convinced.
“Thank you for letting me shop in peace,” I said kindly. I plopped down on his lap and started running my hand over his scalp. (I say scalp because he shaves his head. It feels weird massaging a scalp with no hair. I’m just saying..) This usually always makes him forget that he’s cross with me.
Tom started gazing at me lovingly. I thought he was going to say something romantic like, “Of course. You deserved it. You work so hard here keeping the house clean, folding my undies, making the beds….” But instead he leaned over and whispered, “Does this mean we’re having sex tonight?”
Oh geez.
I had walked into the living room that I had just picked up a few minutes before to find it covered with toys again. A bowl of Cheerios was strewn all over the carpet. I threw my hands in the air and shrieked, “How am I supposed to keep this house clean?”
Then the phone rang. It was Tom letting me know that he’d be coming home soon.
“Are you okay?” he wondered, noticing my wobbly voice.
“No. I’m not okay. No one listens to me in the house. Not even the cat! Natalie got a hold of the toothpaste and squeezed it all over the bathroom. She’s refusing to eat and I swear she calls me mean names under her breath. She keeps taking off her clothes and when I attempted to put them back on her she tried to bi—aye…aye…te me,” I wailed. A few frustrated tears dripped down my cheeks.
I think Tom was sorry that he asked.
“Well,” he said cautiously. He could tell I was in one of my moods where I can twist anything he says and turn it into an insult towards me. “Maybe when I get back you should go out.”
“Are you kicking me out of the house?” I demanded. First my daughter tries to bite me and now my husband was kicking me out of the house. But then I thought about this….I could get out of the house. Alone. Without kids. I could…shop in peace. “Actually, that sounds great. Kohls is having a sale,” I sniffled.
I love Kohls. I’m even a MVC (most valued customer.)
So the second Tom walked through the door, I practically ran out of the house. I went, “Bye, love you!” over my shoulder and leaped into the car before he could change his mind.
As I walked towards the entrance of Kohls, I took a deep breath of fresh air, relishing in the fact that I was alone. Of course after I took that deep breath I sneezed and coughed because I probably inhaled dust or something. But still.
The second I strolled through the front doors a worker greeted me. I nearly grabbed a cart with a seat attached to it because I’m so used to plopping Natalie in there.
“Whoops. I won’t be needing that one. It’s just me today. It’s just me,” I said, grabbing a regular cart.
The teenaged worker appeared to be a tad startled. “Okay?” she said, backing away as though she thought I was going to swing my purse at her. She doesn’t understand now but she will when she has kids, mark my words.
I headed for the clearance racks first and found a pair of size 3 shorts for three bucks. Three bucks! And okay, I’m not exactly size 3. I’m a size 5 on a good day. But for three bucks, surely I could squeeze my ass into a size 3.
Um. Wrong.
For starters, I could barely pull the things up. I grunted to the point where I think the other people in the changing room thought that I was taking a dump. But I wasn’t going to let a pair of three dollar shorts defeat me. No sir.
“I will get you on!” I muttered, yanking determinedly at the fabric. And then, okay, I heard a little bit of a rip so I knew I’d have to buy them anyhow. I finally did get the things over my hips but then I wasn’t able to button them. I heaved in my gut and it didn’t work. So then I sat down on the bench and took a deep breath and managed to slip the button through the hole.
“I did it!” I gasped out.
I gasped because I couldn’t fully breathe properly. But breathing is overrated, right? I think the shorts may have caused permanent damage on my bladder. But who cares? Size 3!
And okay, when I had the shorts on I had a pinched expression on my face as though something was wedged up my butt—and technically, the material was wedged up my butt since there is so much of my butt these days thanks to Halloween candy…
But maybe the shorts will inspire me to lose weight. When I look at them I’ll be all, “Do I want to be able to wear these comfortably during the summer? Do I want to end up on PeopleofWalmart.com? Because I’ll end up on PeopleofWalmart.com if I were to wear these in the state that I’m in now. And I cannot end up on that site because then people will be all, “Hey! Where do I know you from?” and I’ll say hopefully, “Well, I do write a blog…” and they’ll say, “No! You were on PeopleofWalmart.com! You were the chick with her ass hanging out of a pair of shorts that were really too small for her.”
I can’t bring that humiliation to this family. I just can’t.
So when it gets closer to warm weather, I’ll have to force myself in the gym. And I’ll have to only allow myself one Reeses Peanut Butter Cup a day. Maybe two. Three at the max.
It took a few minutes to take the shorts back off. Then I went to the children’s section and found these ultra adorable panda pajamas for Natalie. Sure she may have enough pajamas but these had pandas on them and they were 60% off. I also picked up a pair of Christmas pajamas for Tommy as well as a pair of jeans. He had 8 pairs of pants at the beginning of the school year and now he’s down to 4. This is because he plays rough and the knees of the pants get all white and holey and I just can’t send him to school in pants like that even though Tom says that no one cares.
I also bought new pillows for our couch because our current ones have weird stains all over them.
When I returned home, I walked in with this gigantic bag that looked as though I had bought half the store. And I didn’t, I swear! It was just because the cashier had stuffed everything in one bag with my permission. I do try to Go Green and all. I should bring my own bags in but sometimes I forget to put on my pants so let’s be honest, I doubt I’d even remember to bring my own bags inside the store.
“How much did you buy?” Tom demanded. His eyes practically bugged out of his head.
“Don’t worry. It’s the couch pillows,” I explained, pulling them out.
“The COUCH pillows?” Tom was agog. He smacked our current stained ones. “We have couch pillows.”
“Those are stained and they smell like old cheese. These are fresh non-stained couch pillows,” I said, rubbing my palm against them.
Tom’s brows were still furrowed. “What else did you get?”
I pulled out the ultra adorable panda pajamas. “Panda pajamas!’ I cooed. Natalie rushed over and hugged them to her chest.
“I thought she had pajamas?” Tom wondered.
“Not ones with pandas on them. And plus, they were 60% off. I practically had to buy them.”
Tom didn’t look convinced.
“Thank you for letting me shop in peace,” I said kindly. I plopped down on his lap and started running my hand over his scalp. (I say scalp because he shaves his head. It feels weird massaging a scalp with no hair. I’m just saying..) This usually always makes him forget that he’s cross with me.
Tom started gazing at me lovingly. I thought he was going to say something romantic like, “Of course. You deserved it. You work so hard here keeping the house clean, folding my undies, making the beds….” But instead he leaned over and whispered, “Does this mean we’re having sex tonight?”
Oh geez.
A Time For Everything
I was reminded today by a former student that there is a time for everything. His mom shared with me an English paper he had written called, "Life Among the Dead" and it made me stop and think...alot. He began his paper with a quote from "Turn Turn Turn" by the Byrds. It was done as a protest song to the Vietnam War...back in the day...by the Byrds, Mary Hopkins, and Pete Seeger...but today...I had nothing to protest....today it was simply a reminder of the turn of events my life has taken over the course of the last six weeks. You see, I too had stopped by a cemetary, Hillview Cemetary, earlier in the week to check on my dad...and eventhough the flowers on his grave were all brittle and dry they still had a strange beauty to them....the dogwood tree and maple near the grave were both splendid with fall foliage, the air was crisp and cool and the evidence of seasonal change was everywhere. I walked from my dad's grave over to my brother's and then across the little roadway to my grandmothers and the rest of the family....I noticed that some of the graves between point A and point B had no flowers or sported very faded flowers....reminding me to be better about keeping flowers on the graves for which I was responsible. My dad loved flowers...His most favorite were peppermint azaleas and camilias. Anyways, I am digressing....while walking I noticed that some of the graves had new shiny markers...reminders that someones holiday's are going to be difficult this year...mine included. As many times as I have been to the cemetary over the years I became increasingly aware of the sites and smells that were around me. The studied little bell tower and noticed that it was needing some loving attention. I noticed new fall flowers had been placed on a number of the graves...a sign that someone loved this person and wanted their final place to look nice. There was a little chipmunk sitting right on top of my dad's flowers. He looked up at me as I approached but did not seem the least bit afraid of me. His eyes were kind of sad...as if mirroring my own. It has been a little over a week...and life does go on. After reading Addison's paper this morning I must borrow a thought from him..."the cemetary's primary purpose is to harbor the dead, [yet] it also supplies a quiet home for surrounding life to prosper." Addison was right in reminding me that "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." There is a time to be born and a time to die...and I was also reminded that...I can become a living dead....or make my life count...my dad did...and I know he would expect me to do the same. Life goes on. Obla Di...Obla Da!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
My Dear Letters
Dear vehicles that like to cut in front of me,
Did you forget how in driver’s ed that you were taught to keep at least two car lengths in front of you for safety? Well, how am I supposed to do that if you keep getting into my two car lengths? That space is for SAFETY not for YOU!
Signed,
A Trying To Be Careful,
Amber
---------------------
Dear Tom,
Look, I’m sorry if I’m incapable of talking dirty to you during the act. I tried! Laughing hysterically when I whispered in what I thought was a sexual tone, “You want my crotch, don’t you?” was not very polite.
Signed,
A Non-Kinky,
Amber
--------------------
Dear Tommy,
Announcing that you don’t have to listen to me because you’re getting married is not going to work. You’re only seven. You can’t get married. And plus, when you ask a girl to marry you if her response is, “Fine. I guess,” then she’s probably not the one for you.
Signed,
Because-I’m-The-Momma-That’s-Why,
Amber
-------------------
Dear Natalie,
Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me into the bathroom and watch me poop? I mean honestly? What is the allure?
Signed,
A-sincerely-baffled,
--------------------
Dear People who like going to the movies,
Doesn't this movie look good?
It is a movie called Motherhood It's starting in select cities on Friday. Please go see it so it can come to Wyoming. Thanks! (For more info about the movie, go here.
Signed,
A-Really-Wants-To-See-This,
Amber
------------------
Dear pregnant woman who lives down the street,
The word is pregnant. Not prego, not preggers…but pregnant. Thank you.
Signed,
A Non Cutesy Word Using,
Amber
-------------------
Dear Writer’s Block,
Please go away so I can finish my novel. No one will want to publish a novel that has the ending of la la la la la la la la be bop boo.
Signed,
A Frustrated,
Amber
Did you forget how in driver’s ed that you were taught to keep at least two car lengths in front of you for safety? Well, how am I supposed to do that if you keep getting into my two car lengths? That space is for SAFETY not for YOU!
Signed,
A Trying To Be Careful,
Amber
---------------------
Dear Tom,
Look, I’m sorry if I’m incapable of talking dirty to you during the act. I tried! Laughing hysterically when I whispered in what I thought was a sexual tone, “You want my crotch, don’t you?” was not very polite.
Signed,
A Non-Kinky,
Amber
--------------------
Dear Tommy,
Announcing that you don’t have to listen to me because you’re getting married is not going to work. You’re only seven. You can’t get married. And plus, when you ask a girl to marry you if her response is, “Fine. I guess,” then she’s probably not the one for you.
Signed,
Because-I’m-The-Momma-That’s-Why,
Amber
-------------------
Dear Natalie,
Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me into the bathroom and watch me poop? I mean honestly? What is the allure?
Signed,
A-sincerely-baffled,
--------------------
Dear People who like going to the movies,
Doesn't this movie look good?
It is a movie called Motherhood It's starting in select cities on Friday. Please go see it so it can come to Wyoming. Thanks! (For more info about the movie, go here.
Signed,
A-Really-Wants-To-See-This,
Amber
------------------
Dear pregnant woman who lives down the street,
The word is pregnant. Not prego, not preggers…but pregnant. Thank you.
Signed,
A Non Cutesy Word Using,
Amber
-------------------
Dear Writer’s Block,
Please go away so I can finish my novel. No one will want to publish a novel that has the ending of la la la la la la la la be bop boo.
Signed,
A Frustrated,
Amber
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Natalie...She's Just Like Us!
So I sometimes read the US Weekly magazine and there is a section where there will be photos of celebrities doing mundane things with a caption that reads: "Stars! They're just like US...they EAT!" This always amuses me so I decided to do my own take on it..the toddler version...
Natalie! She's just like US...she gets cranky men who would never in a million years wear a witch hat to put one on!
Natalie! She's just like US....she enjoys doing the splits in the living room.
Natalie! She's just like US...she enjoys jumping off the couch.
Natalie! She's just like US...she loves getting dirty. Sand in the crotch be damned!
Natalie! She's just like US...she falls asleep on the floor even though she has a perfectly good bed.
Natalie! She's just like US....she likes matching with her Mom!
Natalie! She's just like US....she loves the UPS man and is thrilled when he drops her off a package.
Natalie! She's just like US....she enjoys dressing herself and snacking on a good bowl of snow.
Natalie! She's just like US....she cries when she realizes that she's run out of chocolate.
Natalie! She's just like US...she gets cranky men who would never in a million years wear a witch hat to put one on!
Natalie! She's just like US....she enjoys doing the splits in the living room.
Natalie! She's just like US...she enjoys jumping off the couch.
Natalie! She's just like US...she loves getting dirty. Sand in the crotch be damned!
Natalie! She's just like US...she falls asleep on the floor even though she has a perfectly good bed.
Natalie! She's just like US....she likes matching with her Mom!
Natalie! She's just like US....she loves the UPS man and is thrilled when he drops her off a package.
Natalie! She's just like US....she enjoys dressing herself and snacking on a good bowl of snow.
Natalie! She's just like US....she cries when she realizes that she's run out of chocolate.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
No More Popcorn!
*Ding Dong*
I inwardly groaned when I saw Blake, who is the Annoying Neighborhood Kid.
He was standing there holding some papers and when I came to the door, he held them up so that they were covering his face.
“Popcorn! I’m selling popcorn! Look here and find which one you want,” he instructed me as he pulled open the screen door.
That’s another thing: the kid totally just opens our door and walks in. He’s done this on more than one occasion. I hate that he does this because suppose I was walking around in the buff? Not that I ever PLAN to walk around in the buff but I’d really like to have that option open, you know? Yeah, I could just lock the door but still…
“Actually Blake,” I said calmly pushing him back out. “I already bought popcorn from another Boy Scout.”
It had happened a few days before. A kid came by dressed in the uniform and he had silently handed over the popcorn pamphlet.
“I’m selling popcorn,” the Boy Scout whisperer said. “Would you like to buy some?”
I had to crane my neck down in order to hear him.
“Well, what do you recommend?” I had asked nicely. I really didn’t want any popcorn but I always try to buy at least one thing when they drop by. I don’t want to be known as the Cheapo on the Block you know.
The boy looked gobsmacked as though he had never been asked the question before. “Um,” he said, color appearing at his cheeks. “Um.” He twisted his fingers nervously.
“It’s okay. I’ll find something,” I said gently. I was a shy kid too. In fact, I’m a shy adult now.
I ended up getting the $15 container of the chocolate drizzled popcorn. That was the cheapest they had. There was even a $50 barrel of popcorn and I nearly passed out when I saw the price. Hello Boy Scouts, we’re in a recession.
Anyhow, Blake didn’t seem to comprehend that I already bought some popcorn.
Because he went, “Well, try this one!” and he tried to open the door again.
I held it closed. “No thank you, Blake. As I said before, I already bought popcorn.”
“Get some more!” Blake said cheerfully.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and counted to three. What I wanted to do was shout, “You know what, Blake? I gave you my answer already so piss off.” But you can’t talk to children like that. It’ll like, hurt their psyche or something.
“Blake,” I said slowly. “I don’t need anymore popcorn. But I’ll give you credit: you are persistent. You’d make a good salesman.”
Blake’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. “WHAT did you call me?” he demanded, looking aghast.
Uh oh. Danger, Will Robinson, danger.
“I called your persistent. It means you don’t give up easily.”
Blake didn’t look as though he believed me. “I’m telling! You called me a name! Name calling is wrong! I’m telling!” And then he darted off towards his house.
“I was complimenting you!” I shouted to his retreating back.
Oh well. I never got a phone call from his parents so I imagine they explained that I wasn’t being mean.
But hey! Note to self: if I ever want to get Blake to run away, call him persistent.
I inwardly groaned when I saw Blake, who is the Annoying Neighborhood Kid.
He was standing there holding some papers and when I came to the door, he held them up so that they were covering his face.
“Popcorn! I’m selling popcorn! Look here and find which one you want,” he instructed me as he pulled open the screen door.
That’s another thing: the kid totally just opens our door and walks in. He’s done this on more than one occasion. I hate that he does this because suppose I was walking around in the buff? Not that I ever PLAN to walk around in the buff but I’d really like to have that option open, you know? Yeah, I could just lock the door but still…
“Actually Blake,” I said calmly pushing him back out. “I already bought popcorn from another Boy Scout.”
It had happened a few days before. A kid came by dressed in the uniform and he had silently handed over the popcorn pamphlet.
“I’m selling popcorn,” the Boy Scout whisperer said. “Would you like to buy some?”
I had to crane my neck down in order to hear him.
“Well, what do you recommend?” I had asked nicely. I really didn’t want any popcorn but I always try to buy at least one thing when they drop by. I don’t want to be known as the Cheapo on the Block you know.
The boy looked gobsmacked as though he had never been asked the question before. “Um,” he said, color appearing at his cheeks. “Um.” He twisted his fingers nervously.
“It’s okay. I’ll find something,” I said gently. I was a shy kid too. In fact, I’m a shy adult now.
I ended up getting the $15 container of the chocolate drizzled popcorn. That was the cheapest they had. There was even a $50 barrel of popcorn and I nearly passed out when I saw the price. Hello Boy Scouts, we’re in a recession.
Anyhow, Blake didn’t seem to comprehend that I already bought some popcorn.
Because he went, “Well, try this one!” and he tried to open the door again.
I held it closed. “No thank you, Blake. As I said before, I already bought popcorn.”
“Get some more!” Blake said cheerfully.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and counted to three. What I wanted to do was shout, “You know what, Blake? I gave you my answer already so piss off.” But you can’t talk to children like that. It’ll like, hurt their psyche or something.
“Blake,” I said slowly. “I don’t need anymore popcorn. But I’ll give you credit: you are persistent. You’d make a good salesman.”
Blake’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. “WHAT did you call me?” he demanded, looking aghast.
Uh oh. Danger, Will Robinson, danger.
“I called your persistent. It means you don’t give up easily.”
Blake didn’t look as though he believed me. “I’m telling! You called me a name! Name calling is wrong! I’m telling!” And then he darted off towards his house.
“I was complimenting you!” I shouted to his retreating back.
Oh well. I never got a phone call from his parents so I imagine they explained that I wasn’t being mean.
But hey! Note to self: if I ever want to get Blake to run away, call him persistent.
Monday, October 19, 2009
I've Been Locked Out!
The day didn’t start off bad.
No, in fact it was going quite smoothly for once. Natalie had even surprised me and had eaten more than two bites of her breakfast. She and Tommy had kept their fighting to a minimum. For once I didn’t have to spend my entire Saturday telling them to be nice, be nice, for the love of God BE NICE.
Then the doorbell rang and yes, it was one of Tommy’s irritating friends. But my nerves weren’t as frayed as they usually were so the kid didn’t bother me as much as he usually does. I went outside with Natalie at my heels to open the garage for the kids. As I was lifting it up, Natalie went, “I be right back!” and then darted into the house.
I didn’t think much of it. Maybe she was eager to get back to her creepy Yo Gabba Gabba toys that she had brought downstairs. But then I heard the slam of door.
“Tommy’s Mom? Your kid just locked the door I think,” Tommy’s friend Chase informed me.
I rushed over to the door and tried to open the screen door. But it was locked. And Natalie had closed the actual door too.
This was not good.
Still, I couldn’t panic in front of the kids. So I took a few deep breaths and went, “It’s okay. Natalie likes to pretend. She’ll open the door.”
Of course Natalie doesn’t fully know how to turn the knob on the front door. But still. Maybe she’d miraculously figure it out.
I banged on the screen door. “Natalie?”
“Yes?” came her muffled voice. She didn’t sound phased at all.
“Sweetie. You have to turn the knob and unlock the screen door,” I said calmly. I even turned and flashed a smile at the boys who were gaping at me.
I could see the knob flick a few times as though Natalie were attempting to turn it.
“Natalie?” I tried again.
“Yes?” Same sweet voice.
“You have to turn the knob.” My voice was beginning to wobble. I was starting to worry. Suppose Natalie got hurt? I pictured her being buried by all my books and slammed on the screen door again. “Natalie. YOU HAVE TO TURN THE KNOB!” I shrieked.
The knob turned briefly but then it went still.
“Bye bye, Mommy,” Natalie said.
I banged on the screen door. “Natalie! NATALIEEEEEEEE!”
“Do you want me to go and get my crow bar?” Chase said behind me. I head nearly forgotten that they were even there.
Plus it’s pretty disturbing that an eight-year-old has a crow bar.
“I’ll be fine,” I lied even though what I wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry on my porch.
“This doesn’t look good. You’re locked out, Tommy’s Mom,” Chase informed me gravely.
I had a compulsion to hurl my shoe at his head. Instead I swallowed and went, “It’ll be okay. She’ll figure out how to turn the knob. And please, call me Amber.”
I know some parents would probably flip at a kid calling an adult by their first name. But I hate when people call me ma’am. Or Miss Amber. Miss Amber reminds me of an old schoolmarm. And I’m not an old schoolmarm. I’m 27, for craps sake.
As it is, I’m usually called Tommy’s Mom 98% of the time. The other 2% I’m just called, “Hey you.”
“Natalie?” I attempted again. “It’s Mommy. Could you come back to the door?”
“Yeah?” Now Natalie sounded irritated as though I were interrupting her play or something.
“You need to TURN THE KNOB. TURN THE KNOB!” I said frantically.
“Is everything okay?” One of my neighbor’s was passing by with her kids.
I whirled around and pasted a smile on my face. “Oh, we’re great!” I squeaked. “My two year old is just being silly. Haha.”
The neighbor frowned. “Are you locked out?”
My smile got bigger. “Who me? No. I mean, yes but it’s no big deal.” I didn’t want to be known as the negligent parent on the block. I’m not! I didn’t leave her in there. She came out with me. She just raced inside and locked me out.
“Do I need to call the police?” she wondered. “I have my cell phone.”
I shook my head. “No police. I’ll be okay. But thank you.”
I waited until she had walked off before I resumed pounding on the screen door.
“It’s your MOMMY! Please TURN THE KNOB!”
But it was obvious that Natalie wasn’t going to do this.
My throat was starting to hurt from the shouting.
“Are you going to have to sleep out here tonight?” Chase asked incredulously.
I waved my hand at the boys. “Why don’t you go play?”
“Are we going to have to sleep out here tonight?” Tommy asked, looking panicked.
I shook my head. “No. Your Daddy is home. Remember?”
Yes. Tom was home. But he had just worked a night shift and was sleeping in a room with a closed door and a loud fan. So he couldn’t hear me. And I really didn’t want to disturb him since he had another night shift to work.
But I had to. What if Natalie got hurt? Or what if she got into my secret Reeses Peanut Butter Cup drawer and ATE THEM ALL?
I pounded on the door one last time. “Natalie?”
“WHAT?” Natalie screamed. Yeah. She was annoyed. As though I were inconveniencing her or something.
“Go get Daddy. Do you hear me? GO GET DADDY FOR HELP!” This is exactly how Timmy must’ve felt when he shouted at Lassie to get help. I mean, if that show were real and all.
“Okay!” Natalie said and then it was silent again.
I started ringing the doorbell like mad so Tom would hear me.
A few minutes later the front door opened and Tom stood there blinking in his boxers.
“Dude, your dad has no pants on,” Chase said to Tommy.
“What in the hell?” Tom asked. His eyes were still half shut.
“The screen door. You have to UNLOCK THE SCREEN DOOR!” Oops. I forgot that the situation was okay now so I didn’t have to yell. Sometimes I get carried away.
Tom unlocked it with his brows furrowed and I hurried in and shut the door so the neighborhood wouldn’t have a peep show of Tom’s gray boxers.
“What in the hell?” Tom repeated as I scooped up Natalie.
“Are you okay? Are you okay?” I kept saying as I checked her body over for injuries.
“What in the HELL?”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Tom. Natalie locked me out. I’m sorry she had to wake you. Did she tell you that her poor mother was stuck outside?”
In my mind Natalie had rushed up in a panic and had said to Tom, “Mommy needs help!”
But Tom was all, “No. She sat on the bed with me and didn’t even mention you until I heard the doorbell and asked what was going on. Then she said like it was no big deal ‘That’s Mommy.’ And I was all, ‘Why is your Mommy ringing the doorbell?’ and she went, ‘I don’t know,’ and tried to get under the covers.”
What?
My daughter didn’t even CARE that I was trapped outside?
I only gave birth to her. I only nursed her for two years. I only dress her in the cutest outfits ever. And this is the thanks I get?
“I’m sorry,” I said again to Tom. “I know you have to work tonight but I didn’t have any other options.”
A smile was playing on the edges of Tom’s lips. He wasn’t mad. He was amused.
“Isn’t it ironic?” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Isn’t it ironic that this happened to you? When I watch Natalie you always go over this long list of how I need to watch her like a hawk and it’s YOU who ends up locked out while our daughter runs rampant in the house. I just find it ironic is all..” He shrugged and looked quite pleased with himself.
I glared at him. “Do you ever want to have sex again, Tom?”
His gloaty look left his face. “You know. Now that I think about it, this could have happened to anyone..”
No, in fact it was going quite smoothly for once. Natalie had even surprised me and had eaten more than two bites of her breakfast. She and Tommy had kept their fighting to a minimum. For once I didn’t have to spend my entire Saturday telling them to be nice, be nice, for the love of God BE NICE.
Then the doorbell rang and yes, it was one of Tommy’s irritating friends. But my nerves weren’t as frayed as they usually were so the kid didn’t bother me as much as he usually does. I went outside with Natalie at my heels to open the garage for the kids. As I was lifting it up, Natalie went, “I be right back!” and then darted into the house.
I didn’t think much of it. Maybe she was eager to get back to her creepy Yo Gabba Gabba toys that she had brought downstairs. But then I heard the slam of door.
“Tommy’s Mom? Your kid just locked the door I think,” Tommy’s friend Chase informed me.
I rushed over to the door and tried to open the screen door. But it was locked. And Natalie had closed the actual door too.
This was not good.
Still, I couldn’t panic in front of the kids. So I took a few deep breaths and went, “It’s okay. Natalie likes to pretend. She’ll open the door.”
Of course Natalie doesn’t fully know how to turn the knob on the front door. But still. Maybe she’d miraculously figure it out.
I banged on the screen door. “Natalie?”
“Yes?” came her muffled voice. She didn’t sound phased at all.
“Sweetie. You have to turn the knob and unlock the screen door,” I said calmly. I even turned and flashed a smile at the boys who were gaping at me.
I could see the knob flick a few times as though Natalie were attempting to turn it.
“Natalie?” I tried again.
“Yes?” Same sweet voice.
“You have to turn the knob.” My voice was beginning to wobble. I was starting to worry. Suppose Natalie got hurt? I pictured her being buried by all my books and slammed on the screen door again. “Natalie. YOU HAVE TO TURN THE KNOB!” I shrieked.
The knob turned briefly but then it went still.
“Bye bye, Mommy,” Natalie said.
I banged on the screen door. “Natalie! NATALIEEEEEEEE!”
“Do you want me to go and get my crow bar?” Chase said behind me. I head nearly forgotten that they were even there.
Plus it’s pretty disturbing that an eight-year-old has a crow bar.
“I’ll be fine,” I lied even though what I wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry on my porch.
“This doesn’t look good. You’re locked out, Tommy’s Mom,” Chase informed me gravely.
I had a compulsion to hurl my shoe at his head. Instead I swallowed and went, “It’ll be okay. She’ll figure out how to turn the knob. And please, call me Amber.”
I know some parents would probably flip at a kid calling an adult by their first name. But I hate when people call me ma’am. Or Miss Amber. Miss Amber reminds me of an old schoolmarm. And I’m not an old schoolmarm. I’m 27, for craps sake.
As it is, I’m usually called Tommy’s Mom 98% of the time. The other 2% I’m just called, “Hey you.”
“Natalie?” I attempted again. “It’s Mommy. Could you come back to the door?”
“Yeah?” Now Natalie sounded irritated as though I were interrupting her play or something.
“You need to TURN THE KNOB. TURN THE KNOB!” I said frantically.
“Is everything okay?” One of my neighbor’s was passing by with her kids.
I whirled around and pasted a smile on my face. “Oh, we’re great!” I squeaked. “My two year old is just being silly. Haha.”
The neighbor frowned. “Are you locked out?”
My smile got bigger. “Who me? No. I mean, yes but it’s no big deal.” I didn’t want to be known as the negligent parent on the block. I’m not! I didn’t leave her in there. She came out with me. She just raced inside and locked me out.
“Do I need to call the police?” she wondered. “I have my cell phone.”
I shook my head. “No police. I’ll be okay. But thank you.”
I waited until she had walked off before I resumed pounding on the screen door.
“It’s your MOMMY! Please TURN THE KNOB!”
But it was obvious that Natalie wasn’t going to do this.
My throat was starting to hurt from the shouting.
“Are you going to have to sleep out here tonight?” Chase asked incredulously.
I waved my hand at the boys. “Why don’t you go play?”
“Are we going to have to sleep out here tonight?” Tommy asked, looking panicked.
I shook my head. “No. Your Daddy is home. Remember?”
Yes. Tom was home. But he had just worked a night shift and was sleeping in a room with a closed door and a loud fan. So he couldn’t hear me. And I really didn’t want to disturb him since he had another night shift to work.
But I had to. What if Natalie got hurt? Or what if she got into my secret Reeses Peanut Butter Cup drawer and ATE THEM ALL?
I pounded on the door one last time. “Natalie?”
“WHAT?” Natalie screamed. Yeah. She was annoyed. As though I were inconveniencing her or something.
“Go get Daddy. Do you hear me? GO GET DADDY FOR HELP!” This is exactly how Timmy must’ve felt when he shouted at Lassie to get help. I mean, if that show were real and all.
“Okay!” Natalie said and then it was silent again.
I started ringing the doorbell like mad so Tom would hear me.
A few minutes later the front door opened and Tom stood there blinking in his boxers.
“Dude, your dad has no pants on,” Chase said to Tommy.
“What in the hell?” Tom asked. His eyes were still half shut.
“The screen door. You have to UNLOCK THE SCREEN DOOR!” Oops. I forgot that the situation was okay now so I didn’t have to yell. Sometimes I get carried away.
Tom unlocked it with his brows furrowed and I hurried in and shut the door so the neighborhood wouldn’t have a peep show of Tom’s gray boxers.
“What in the hell?” Tom repeated as I scooped up Natalie.
“Are you okay? Are you okay?” I kept saying as I checked her body over for injuries.
“What in the HELL?”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Tom. Natalie locked me out. I’m sorry she had to wake you. Did she tell you that her poor mother was stuck outside?”
In my mind Natalie had rushed up in a panic and had said to Tom, “Mommy needs help!”
But Tom was all, “No. She sat on the bed with me and didn’t even mention you until I heard the doorbell and asked what was going on. Then she said like it was no big deal ‘That’s Mommy.’ And I was all, ‘Why is your Mommy ringing the doorbell?’ and she went, ‘I don’t know,’ and tried to get under the covers.”
What?
My daughter didn’t even CARE that I was trapped outside?
I only gave birth to her. I only nursed her for two years. I only dress her in the cutest outfits ever. And this is the thanks I get?
“I’m sorry,” I said again to Tom. “I know you have to work tonight but I didn’t have any other options.”
A smile was playing on the edges of Tom’s lips. He wasn’t mad. He was amused.
“Isn’t it ironic?” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Isn’t it ironic that this happened to you? When I watch Natalie you always go over this long list of how I need to watch her like a hawk and it’s YOU who ends up locked out while our daughter runs rampant in the house. I just find it ironic is all..” He shrugged and looked quite pleased with himself.
I glared at him. “Do you ever want to have sex again, Tom?”
His gloaty look left his face. “You know. Now that I think about it, this could have happened to anyone..”
Saturday, October 17, 2009
A State of Emptiness....
It has been a week since I posted anything on my blog. I have had nothing to give you...so much has happened. Sunday, after the funeral, when most everyone had gone back home I knew it was time to return my mom to the nursing home. She was beginning to look confused and disoriented. So, Frank and I loaded her up, went by the cemetary, and took her to the Dadeville Healthcare Center...that is when all hell broke loose. The thing I was dreading most came to fruition and my mom snapped. I was going to bury my father...and lose my mother...on the same day. This is a child's worst nightmare. When we got to the Center...she refused to stay...she shoved me out of her way (and when I looked in her eyes I realized she had no clue who I was), kicked my daughter, and took a swing at Frank. The nursing home was not capable of dealing with her like this...so we called in re-enforcements...Mary and Judy came...and spent the night with her. The doctor was coming to see her in the morning...and we were going to try and get her in a Psych ward somewhere. I sat outside the nursing home and cried....physically sick at my stomach...I had promised my dad I would take care of her...and now this was happening. Frank joined me on the curb...and I cried with him. We both agreed that counseling was something we needed to pursue. This whole adventure, from the missing parents to this was more than we could handle. After Judy and Mary arrived...we returned to my house....and slept wearily. Monday morning we got up and Barry and Joyce went to sit with my mom until the sitters could be arranged. Kat, Brian, and I went to see the doctor. He believed that she was a threat to herself and others and truly needed to be in a psych ward. They were all called....and there were no openings. We went home....worked around the house...and waited for a call. The call came at 5. We then had 2 hours to get her to Brookwood in Birmingham. Kat, Brian and Susan went to get my mom and bring her to Brookwood. Frank, Joyce and I went to Brookwood to give them my guardianship papers. We got there about 30 minutes ahead of them and made some arrangements. They arrived shortly after that and my mom was brought in....she was heavily medicated so she would be compliable. Once we had her set...now 9:00...we all left and headed back. On Tuesday, Susan and I went back to Brookwood to take her glasses to her. Susan went in and saw her...and she wanted Susan to take her home. She kept insisting that nothing was wrong with her...and she could not understand why she was there. Weds. the social worker, Kelly called and said my mom seemed to be doing fine and she might get to go back to Dadeville on Friday after the Doctor evaluated her on Thursday...On Thursday morning I got a call from my mom...she beligerently asked me to come and get her...even after I explained that I was sick...she ended her end of the conversation with, "If you don't come and get me....I will just walk home." I told her to do what she felt she needed to do. An hour or so later I called the social worker and she told me my mom would NOT be coming home on Friday...she had tried to get out of the unit and had taken a swing at the tech when he tried to stop her. I was actually relieved...and thought...wow...if I had known my not coming to get her would help her get the help she needed I would have done it on Tuesday. Friday rolled around and she called me and demanded I come and get her again. She said the doctor had said nothing was wrong with her and she could go home. I asked if there was someone there who could give me directions...and she gave me nurse, Shannon. Shannon said not to worry...she would not be coming home...the doctor had not said that...and that she was still trying to elope(escape). Kelly called later in the day and confirmed that it would be no earlier than Tuesday and that she would go back to the Dadeville Healthcare Center...via ambulance. She would not be able to come home...because she wanders. She would have to be in a locked down unit for her own protection. So here I sit...it is Saturday again...it has been a week since my dad died...and was buried...and I would love to have my mom wrap her arms around me and tell me it is going to be alright...but you know...it isn't going to be alright. My mom is gone and the woman inhabiting her body at the moment is a stranger...my best friend Susan left for Knoxville a few hours ago...and I am alone for the first time since my dad died...and struggling with this. Keep us in your prayers...my mom, my daughter, my sweet Frank, and me...death is a bitter pill to swallow...dementia...even more so. God Bless You all...and hug someone you love tonight and let them know you love them.
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Taped Door
The doorbell rang and a guy from housing maintenance stood on the other side of it.
“I’m here to replace your door,” he informed me.
He was here to replace this one:
As you may recall, we also have another broken door:
This one happened on purpose when I tried to be Jet Li and break open the knob when I couldn’t unlock it.
As you can see, that didn’t work out so well. The door wound up with a crack and I ended up with a throbbing foot and a bruise.
I had showed the housing maintenance worker that door when they had first dropped by a week before to see exactly what needed to be replaced. I didn’t bother to lie in explaining the crack.
“Yeah so my daughter had locked the door and I couldn’t get it open so I decided to use my karate moves to get it open. But it turns out I have no karate moves so…” and then I trailed off and tried to look sweet and innocent.
The worker had raised an eyebrow and was all, “KARATE moves?” in a shocked tone. Then he had scratched the side of his head as though he wasn’t quite sure what to say next. I suppose I may have been the first occupant in base housing who tried to kick a door in. “You know you’re going to have to pay for this?” he said. “Karate moves or not.” A smile was playing on the corner of his lips.
I nodded knowingly. “Right. I figured. I just wanted to report it.”
Then I had showed the guy the other broken door.
I swear, I had nothing to do with this one.
The kids were playing and I all of a sudden heard a thump. Then Natalie walked out with this piece:
She told me quite seriously, “Door broken.”
“Did you try and karate chop this one too?” the worker asked warily when I had showed him the hole.
I shook my head. “No sir!”
He peered at the door piece that I had handed over. “Is that…tape on the end? Did you try to tape it back on the door?”
My cheeks felt warm. “Well. I might have.”
I didn’t know what else to do! Tape was the first thing that came to mind! As it is, the tape did nothing and the piece just came right off again.
“Tape?” the worker repeated as though he couldn’t believe it. He was probably thinking, “Okay, first she karate kicks a door and then she tries to tape a piece back on. She’s clearly a nutter.”
I am NOT a nutter. I just…well, sometimes my imagination gets the better of me and I start to believe that I CAN be a karate master if I just put my mind to it. Or that tape will surely hold a piece together.
Thank goodness it was a different worker who came to replace the door. (And he only came to replace the door with the hole. They can’t replace the one upstairs because they were worried about damaging our stuff when they removed it.)
Of course when the worker came inside, Tom was emerging from the bathroom. He had been able to come home from lunch and as he walked out he didn’t see the worker. So he said (loudly), “Wow, that was my third crap of the day. I can’t believe it.” Then he noticed me standing there with the guy beside me who had a bewildered look on his face.
“Er Tom?” I said in an embarrassed squeak. “The guy from housing maintenance is here to replace the door.” I gestured towards the worker who had pinched in cheeks like he was trying hard not to laugh.
Tom coughed and went, “Oh. Hi there,” and quickly scurried into the kitchen. I imagine he was appalled.
I mean, I was appalled. I put myself in the worker’s position: suppose I had walked into a home and the owner had been discussing his number twos? This is why I’ve told Tom time and time again that I could care less about what goes on in the bathroom. But he doesn’t seem to comprehend this. Maybe now he will.
"So, um, I'll show you the broken door," I said, trying to pretend like Tom had never spoken at all.
The guy frowned when he saw the hole. "What happened here? And is that tape on the end of that piece?"
Okay, is it SO shocking that I tried to tape it back?
Note to self: never use tape to fix a piece of the door.
“I’m here to replace your door,” he informed me.
He was here to replace this one:
As you may recall, we also have another broken door:
This one happened on purpose when I tried to be Jet Li and break open the knob when I couldn’t unlock it.
As you can see, that didn’t work out so well. The door wound up with a crack and I ended up with a throbbing foot and a bruise.
I had showed the housing maintenance worker that door when they had first dropped by a week before to see exactly what needed to be replaced. I didn’t bother to lie in explaining the crack.
“Yeah so my daughter had locked the door and I couldn’t get it open so I decided to use my karate moves to get it open. But it turns out I have no karate moves so…” and then I trailed off and tried to look sweet and innocent.
The worker had raised an eyebrow and was all, “KARATE moves?” in a shocked tone. Then he had scratched the side of his head as though he wasn’t quite sure what to say next. I suppose I may have been the first occupant in base housing who tried to kick a door in. “You know you’re going to have to pay for this?” he said. “Karate moves or not.” A smile was playing on the corner of his lips.
I nodded knowingly. “Right. I figured. I just wanted to report it.”
Then I had showed the guy the other broken door.
I swear, I had nothing to do with this one.
The kids were playing and I all of a sudden heard a thump. Then Natalie walked out with this piece:
She told me quite seriously, “Door broken.”
“Did you try and karate chop this one too?” the worker asked warily when I had showed him the hole.
I shook my head. “No sir!”
He peered at the door piece that I had handed over. “Is that…tape on the end? Did you try to tape it back on the door?”
My cheeks felt warm. “Well. I might have.”
I didn’t know what else to do! Tape was the first thing that came to mind! As it is, the tape did nothing and the piece just came right off again.
“Tape?” the worker repeated as though he couldn’t believe it. He was probably thinking, “Okay, first she karate kicks a door and then she tries to tape a piece back on. She’s clearly a nutter.”
I am NOT a nutter. I just…well, sometimes my imagination gets the better of me and I start to believe that I CAN be a karate master if I just put my mind to it. Or that tape will surely hold a piece together.
Thank goodness it was a different worker who came to replace the door. (And he only came to replace the door with the hole. They can’t replace the one upstairs because they were worried about damaging our stuff when they removed it.)
Of course when the worker came inside, Tom was emerging from the bathroom. He had been able to come home from lunch and as he walked out he didn’t see the worker. So he said (loudly), “Wow, that was my third crap of the day. I can’t believe it.” Then he noticed me standing there with the guy beside me who had a bewildered look on his face.
“Er Tom?” I said in an embarrassed squeak. “The guy from housing maintenance is here to replace the door.” I gestured towards the worker who had pinched in cheeks like he was trying hard not to laugh.
Tom coughed and went, “Oh. Hi there,” and quickly scurried into the kitchen. I imagine he was appalled.
I mean, I was appalled. I put myself in the worker’s position: suppose I had walked into a home and the owner had been discussing his number twos? This is why I’ve told Tom time and time again that I could care less about what goes on in the bathroom. But he doesn’t seem to comprehend this. Maybe now he will.
"So, um, I'll show you the broken door," I said, trying to pretend like Tom had never spoken at all.
The guy frowned when he saw the hole. "What happened here? And is that tape on the end of that piece?"
Okay, is it SO shocking that I tried to tape it back?
Note to self: never use tape to fix a piece of the door.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The Orange Spray Adventure
Tsssssss. Tsssssss.
I heard the hissing sound as I scrubbed off the refrigerator. It always seems to get covered with crayon or some mysterious residue that’s a cross between mud and yogurt. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. I don’t know. All I know is that it always seems to wind up on the handle and that I have to scrub it off each night.
Tsssssss. Tssssss. Tsssssss.
What in the world?
Was that---
Could Tom have---
“Tom! That’s disgusting. Say excuse me!” I shouted to him. He was busy playing his airplane game on the computer which means he didn’t have his headphones on for once.
Tom paused his game and whirled around. “Why should I say excuse me?”
Tssssss. Tssssss.
“Because of that! How gross.” I immediately pinched my nose because if you don’t, you’ll die.
“I’m not farting! That’s not me!” Tom shouted indignantly.
I just gave him a Look and went back to washing the fridge. Then I heard it again:
Tssssss. Tssssss.
“Tom, honestly. If you’re going to fart, own it,” I said sharply.
Tom paused his game again. “I’m telling you! It’s not me.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “How do I know it’s not YOU?” He shot me an accusing stare.
I was aghast. “Why would I accuse you of farting if it were really me?” I demanded.
Tom shrugged. “Who knows? Girls are weird!”
Tsssss. Tssssss.
Tom and I both glared at each other.
“So if it’s not you...and it’s not me...who is it?” I wondered.
Tom scanned the room. “Wait a minute. Natalie isn’t here…”
Crap!
It’s never a good thing when your two-year-old wanders off and is QUIET.
So I immediately shoved aside the Lysol and headed for the stairs.
This is where I found my daughter. Playing with this:
Basically she was spraying herself with Citrus Breeze. And when you spray the thing, it makes a hissing noise.
“Natalie Elizabeth! No!” I admonished.
She grinned at me and pressed the spray button. “I smell pretty,” she informed me as she danced in the droplets of Citrus Breeze.
I scooped her up and nearly passed out from the stench. I hope she doesn’t turn into one of those women who practically bathes in perfume and think that they actually smell NICE.
I carried her downstairs. “Your daughter was getting into the sprayer thing,” I told Tom.
Tom took one look at Natalie and burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny! It’s wasteful. She’s going to smell like oranges for a week!” I said. I ran my fingers through her damp hair. “Suppose her hair starts to fall out?”
Tom waved a hand dismissively in the air. “It won’t. She’s fine.”
I glared down at Natalie. “You owe me $3.99 for the spray stuff,” I informed her.
Natalie fluttered her eyelashes at me. “I smell pretty.”
“You smell like you've been bathing in orange juice for hours,” I said.
“I yike oranges,” Natalie answered sweetly.
“Well, that’s great. Because you’ll probably be smelling like them for awhile.”
I heard the hissing sound as I scrubbed off the refrigerator. It always seems to get covered with crayon or some mysterious residue that’s a cross between mud and yogurt. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. I don’t know. All I know is that it always seems to wind up on the handle and that I have to scrub it off each night.
Tsssssss. Tssssss. Tsssssss.
What in the world?
Was that---
Could Tom have---
“Tom! That’s disgusting. Say excuse me!” I shouted to him. He was busy playing his airplane game on the computer which means he didn’t have his headphones on for once.
Tom paused his game and whirled around. “Why should I say excuse me?”
Tssssss. Tssssss.
“Because of that! How gross.” I immediately pinched my nose because if you don’t, you’ll die.
“I’m not farting! That’s not me!” Tom shouted indignantly.
I just gave him a Look and went back to washing the fridge. Then I heard it again:
Tssssss. Tssssss.
“Tom, honestly. If you’re going to fart, own it,” I said sharply.
Tom paused his game again. “I’m telling you! It’s not me.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “How do I know it’s not YOU?” He shot me an accusing stare.
I was aghast. “Why would I accuse you of farting if it were really me?” I demanded.
Tom shrugged. “Who knows? Girls are weird!”
Tsssss. Tssssss.
Tom and I both glared at each other.
“So if it’s not you...and it’s not me...who is it?” I wondered.
Tom scanned the room. “Wait a minute. Natalie isn’t here…”
Crap!
It’s never a good thing when your two-year-old wanders off and is QUIET.
So I immediately shoved aside the Lysol and headed for the stairs.
This is where I found my daughter. Playing with this:
Basically she was spraying herself with Citrus Breeze. And when you spray the thing, it makes a hissing noise.
“Natalie Elizabeth! No!” I admonished.
She grinned at me and pressed the spray button. “I smell pretty,” she informed me as she danced in the droplets of Citrus Breeze.
I scooped her up and nearly passed out from the stench. I hope she doesn’t turn into one of those women who practically bathes in perfume and think that they actually smell NICE.
I carried her downstairs. “Your daughter was getting into the sprayer thing,” I told Tom.
Tom took one look at Natalie and burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny! It’s wasteful. She’s going to smell like oranges for a week!” I said. I ran my fingers through her damp hair. “Suppose her hair starts to fall out?”
Tom waved a hand dismissively in the air. “It won’t. She’s fine.”
I glared down at Natalie. “You owe me $3.99 for the spray stuff,” I informed her.
Natalie fluttered her eyelashes at me. “I smell pretty.”
“You smell like you've been bathing in orange juice for hours,” I said.
“I yike oranges,” Natalie answered sweetly.
“Well, that’s great. Because you’ll probably be smelling like them for awhile.”
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Photoshoot with Natalie
"Hey Natalie? Do you want to take some pictures in your new Gymboree outfits?"
"Oh, don't give me that look. Remember you get to watch Yo Gabba Gabba afterward."
"No, I don't think we'll be watching Snow White afterward. Mommy is a little tired of that movie. Stop giving me that look."
"You can say Princess and Castle all you want. Let's take a break from Snow White today, okay?"
"Okay, now can you smile for the camera?"
*Singing a Yo Gabba Gabba song*
"You want another song? And you want me to jump around like a fool? Oh, fine."
"Okay Natalie. Now picture women actually wanting to have sex with David Letterman!"
"Let's try on your other outfit. Okay?"
"Show everyone the Panda!"
"Yes I know. It's just like on Ni-Hao, Kai-Lan. No, we're not watching it right now. Stop giving me that look."
"Shoot! Run and hide, Natalie. There's the thirty-something-year-old woman who loves to talk about Twilight. She doesn't seem to comprehend that I could care less that New Moon is coming out next month.
"Natalie, I see her. Stop pointing at her or she might come over here!
"Phew, she didn't stop here. Maybe my frightened expression scared her off. Now smile for Mommy!"
"What's that? You're not giving me a real smile until I jump around like a fool again? Ugh, fine."
"Mommy is going to make some chili tonight. Wait, why are you laughing at me? It's going to be edible, I swear.."
"Okay, darling, remember this shirt is white which makes me a little nervous. So you aren't planning on getting it dirty, are you? Why do you look like you're thinking it over?"
"Alright Natalie, last frame! I mean, last picture. Sorry, Mommy may have been watching America's Next Top Model..."
"Oh, don't give me that look. Remember you get to watch Yo Gabba Gabba afterward."
"No, I don't think we'll be watching Snow White afterward. Mommy is a little tired of that movie. Stop giving me that look."
"You can say Princess and Castle all you want. Let's take a break from Snow White today, okay?"
"Okay, now can you smile for the camera?"
*Singing a Yo Gabba Gabba song*
"You want another song? And you want me to jump around like a fool? Oh, fine."
"Okay Natalie. Now picture women actually wanting to have sex with David Letterman!"
"Let's try on your other outfit. Okay?"
"Show everyone the Panda!"
"Yes I know. It's just like on Ni-Hao, Kai-Lan. No, we're not watching it right now. Stop giving me that look."
"Shoot! Run and hide, Natalie. There's the thirty-something-year-old woman who loves to talk about Twilight. She doesn't seem to comprehend that I could care less that New Moon is coming out next month.
"Natalie, I see her. Stop pointing at her or she might come over here!
"Phew, she didn't stop here. Maybe my frightened expression scared her off. Now smile for Mommy!"
"What's that? You're not giving me a real smile until I jump around like a fool again? Ugh, fine."
"Mommy is going to make some chili tonight. Wait, why are you laughing at me? It's going to be edible, I swear.."
"Okay, darling, remember this shirt is white which makes me a little nervous. So you aren't planning on getting it dirty, are you? Why do you look like you're thinking it over?"
"Alright Natalie, last frame! I mean, last picture. Sorry, Mommy may have been watching America's Next Top Model..."
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Columbus Day Rants
I’m writing this Monday night.
And I’m annoyed.
Tom was off today thanks to Christopher Columbus. Tommy was off today thanks to Christopher Columbus. Natalie was....well, Natalie was here seeing as she’s only two.
But still. At the moment I can’t help but be a tad irritated at Mr. Columbus.
My husband Tom was stretched out on the couch watching Hi Hao, Kai-Lan with Natalie earlier. He felt the need to answer the television. For instance, Kai-Lan just asked if we wanted to learn a Chinese word. Tom went, “No thanks. No. Not at all.”
Then Kai-Lan asked us why we thought Tolee was upset. Or was in Rintoo? I don’t know. One of the animals on the show was seriously pitching a fit.
“Duh! He’s upset because he can’t roller skate!” Tom shouted. “Amber, is this show serious?”
I had to remind him that the show is intended for children.
Kai-Lan asked what we could do to make Tolee happy.
“Take the skates away and tell the little sh—” Tom began.
“TOM!” I admonished. “You can’t curse in front of the c-h-i-l-d-r-e-n.”
“Children! Why did you spell children?” Tommy wondered.
It really is so much fun now that he’s learning to spell.
Tom frowned. “What I meant to say is…just take the skates away from him! Not everyone can skate. It’s okay, really.”
But obviously the show was about the importance of practicing to get better so Tolee had to keep trying.
Tom was about to open his mouth to say something else but I went, “Look. If you say one more thing about the show I’m switching it to Yo Gabba Gabba.”
That shut him right up because Yo Gabba Gabba frightens him. In fact, at first he thought I was yanking his leg when I put on the program.
“This is on Comedy Central, right? Making fun of extreme children’s programming?” Tom asked as he walked in the room and saw the creatures singing about a party in their tummies.
“No Tom. It’s a real children’s show,” I had said.
Tom stared at me in disbelief. “No it’s not! It’s on Comedy Central! A children’s show wouldn’t have a diseased dildo as a character,” he said, pointing out Muno who I’m sorry, does sort of resemble the male genitalia.
He eventually realized that Yo Gabba Gabba was a real show. And I forced him to watch it before.
And now he’s still traumatized.
So when I threatened to put on Yo Gabba Gabba, he shut his mouth.
Then later Tommy didn’t want to do his homework. Technically, it’s not homework. It’s just some classwork that he didn’t get to finish because he’s pulled out of his regular classroom to the resource room for reading and math. Still, I tell him that he needs to finish his classwork and he was not pleased with this.
“My teacher said I didn’t have to bring it back!” he kept whining.
I rubbed my temples. My head was starting to throb. At that point after being in the house with no breathing space I was beginning to lose my patience.
“Just finish the work, Tommy. It’s important to finish what you start,” I said through clenched teeth.
He did it, but when he was done he looked me in the eye and went, “I’m not your son anymore,” before stomping up to his room.
I put my head in my hands and groaned. Then Natalie came up and tapped me on the arm. “Mommy? I pooped,” she said sweetly. I lifted up my head and peered at her. “Go ask Daddy to take care of it.”
“Okay,” Natalie said and rushed off to Tom. “Daddy! I pooped!”
And then I heard HIM say, “Go tell Mommy.”
Are you KIDDING me?
What I wanted to do was scream, “I just need five minutes to myself. JUST FIVE MINUTES!” But I didn’t. I changed the diaper. I shot Tom dirty looks while doing it. Then I went to unload the dishwasher. And while I was bending down to retrieve the silverware, Tom was suddenly behind me, humping my back.
I don’t get it. Whenever I bend over he’s always there humping my back. Does he sense when I’ve bent over? Is it like a Spidey sense? Like, do men suddenly get an alarm in their brain that goes, “Alert! Alert! Ass in the air. I repeat: ASS IN THE AIR!”
“Tom. Please,” I said, pushing his gyrating hips away. “Not in the mood.”
“What else is new?” Tom grumbled.
EXCUSE ME?
I can’t help that I’m tired. And at that point I was moody because I just needed a little bit of quiet time. I barely get it now since Natalie has been refusing her naps. I used to get two hours of peace. But not anymore.
“Just turn the TV on for her if you want quiet,” is Tom’s suggestion.
But I don’t like to just shove my kids in front of the television. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am not anti-television. No way. Without television I don’t think I’d get a thing done. The kids usually get to watch at least two hours a day and even then I imagine the American Association of Pediatrics would like to pound on my door, reminding me that kids should only get ONE HOUR of television per day and shame on me.
Anyhow, now everyone is in bed and I’m enjoying my quiet time.
I get to watch television without being interrupted!
I can check my e-mail without someone hanging over my shoulder.
I get to—
Crap.
Natalie is crying.
Nevermind.
And I’m annoyed.
Tom was off today thanks to Christopher Columbus. Tommy was off today thanks to Christopher Columbus. Natalie was....well, Natalie was here seeing as she’s only two.
But still. At the moment I can’t help but be a tad irritated at Mr. Columbus.
My husband Tom was stretched out on the couch watching Hi Hao, Kai-Lan with Natalie earlier. He felt the need to answer the television. For instance, Kai-Lan just asked if we wanted to learn a Chinese word. Tom went, “No thanks. No. Not at all.”
Then Kai-Lan asked us why we thought Tolee was upset. Or was in Rintoo? I don’t know. One of the animals on the show was seriously pitching a fit.
“Duh! He’s upset because he can’t roller skate!” Tom shouted. “Amber, is this show serious?”
I had to remind him that the show is intended for children.
Kai-Lan asked what we could do to make Tolee happy.
“Take the skates away and tell the little sh—” Tom began.
“TOM!” I admonished. “You can’t curse in front of the c-h-i-l-d-r-e-n.”
“Children! Why did you spell children?” Tommy wondered.
It really is so much fun now that he’s learning to spell.
Tom frowned. “What I meant to say is…just take the skates away from him! Not everyone can skate. It’s okay, really.”
But obviously the show was about the importance of practicing to get better so Tolee had to keep trying.
Tom was about to open his mouth to say something else but I went, “Look. If you say one more thing about the show I’m switching it to Yo Gabba Gabba.”
That shut him right up because Yo Gabba Gabba frightens him. In fact, at first he thought I was yanking his leg when I put on the program.
“This is on Comedy Central, right? Making fun of extreme children’s programming?” Tom asked as he walked in the room and saw the creatures singing about a party in their tummies.
“No Tom. It’s a real children’s show,” I had said.
Tom stared at me in disbelief. “No it’s not! It’s on Comedy Central! A children’s show wouldn’t have a diseased dildo as a character,” he said, pointing out Muno who I’m sorry, does sort of resemble the male genitalia.
He eventually realized that Yo Gabba Gabba was a real show. And I forced him to watch it before.
And now he’s still traumatized.
So when I threatened to put on Yo Gabba Gabba, he shut his mouth.
Then later Tommy didn’t want to do his homework. Technically, it’s not homework. It’s just some classwork that he didn’t get to finish because he’s pulled out of his regular classroom to the resource room for reading and math. Still, I tell him that he needs to finish his classwork and he was not pleased with this.
“My teacher said I didn’t have to bring it back!” he kept whining.
I rubbed my temples. My head was starting to throb. At that point after being in the house with no breathing space I was beginning to lose my patience.
“Just finish the work, Tommy. It’s important to finish what you start,” I said through clenched teeth.
He did it, but when he was done he looked me in the eye and went, “I’m not your son anymore,” before stomping up to his room.
I put my head in my hands and groaned. Then Natalie came up and tapped me on the arm. “Mommy? I pooped,” she said sweetly. I lifted up my head and peered at her. “Go ask Daddy to take care of it.”
“Okay,” Natalie said and rushed off to Tom. “Daddy! I pooped!”
And then I heard HIM say, “Go tell Mommy.”
Are you KIDDING me?
What I wanted to do was scream, “I just need five minutes to myself. JUST FIVE MINUTES!” But I didn’t. I changed the diaper. I shot Tom dirty looks while doing it. Then I went to unload the dishwasher. And while I was bending down to retrieve the silverware, Tom was suddenly behind me, humping my back.
I don’t get it. Whenever I bend over he’s always there humping my back. Does he sense when I’ve bent over? Is it like a Spidey sense? Like, do men suddenly get an alarm in their brain that goes, “Alert! Alert! Ass in the air. I repeat: ASS IN THE AIR!”
“Tom. Please,” I said, pushing his gyrating hips away. “Not in the mood.”
“What else is new?” Tom grumbled.
EXCUSE ME?
I can’t help that I’m tired. And at that point I was moody because I just needed a little bit of quiet time. I barely get it now since Natalie has been refusing her naps. I used to get two hours of peace. But not anymore.
“Just turn the TV on for her if you want quiet,” is Tom’s suggestion.
But I don’t like to just shove my kids in front of the television. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am not anti-television. No way. Without television I don’t think I’d get a thing done. The kids usually get to watch at least two hours a day and even then I imagine the American Association of Pediatrics would like to pound on my door, reminding me that kids should only get ONE HOUR of television per day and shame on me.
Anyhow, now everyone is in bed and I’m enjoying my quiet time.
I get to watch television without being interrupted!
I can check my e-mail without someone hanging over my shoulder.
I get to—
Crap.
Natalie is crying.
Nevermind.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Four Wheel Drive
Over the weekend, we were dumped with snow.
Most people would stay indoors.
But not us.
No. Tom was all, “Do you want to go to Target? I need to get new headphones since you vacuumed up my other ones.”
Okay, first of all, I didn’t vacuum up his headphones. Just the cord. And it wasn’t totally MY fault. If he had picked up his cord instead of leaving it on the floor, then I wouldn’t have sucked it up now would I?
“Tom. It’s icy outside. I don’t think it’s safe,” I reminded him, peering out the window.
“You forget that we have the power of...FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!” Tom boomed, punching the air as he shouted the words FOUR WHEEL DRIVE.
He startled me, actually. You don’t start speaking normally and then suddenly shout. It’s just poor taste.
“I mean...I guess,” I agreed.
So we all trooped out to the truck. I slipped as I stepped up on the foot rail to get into my seat. There was some ice there so I went face first into the seat. And it’s leather so it smacked me in the forehead.
“Stupid truck,” I muttered as I settled down.
Tom’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Excuse me?” He’s seriously in love with his truck. Sometimes I want to say, “Why don’t I just leave the two of you alone?”
There was a small mound of snow at the edge of our driveway. I wasn’t sure if we’d even be able to get out.
“That looks rather high,” I commented.
“Ahhh. To other cars, it would be too high. But not when you have FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!” Tom yelled, gripping the wheel excitedly.
I jumped again and massaged my ear. “Could you not scream like that?”
We burst right through the snow. We didn’t even skid once.
When we got to Target I started doing my normal Target rounds. For those who don’t know, this means I look everywhere because you never know where you’ll find things for 75% off. Tom found me wandering the towel area.
“I’m confused. Why are we here?”
He always asks me why I’m in a certain section even though I’ve told him a billion times that when I’m in Target, I have to look everywhere.
“Some of the college stuff is 75% off. Look at this comforter! Only nine bucks! Too bad that it’s twin sized,” I mused.
Tom made a face. “We don’t need any comforters. Even if they are 75% off. We have a perfectly good comforter.”
I patted his head lovingly. Poor deranged Tom.
He started to get impatient when I went down another aisle. “Amber. I’m ready to go home. I found what I needed. I had to shovel snow for nearly an hour and I’m tired and cranky and I just want to go home! ”
Geez.
Target buzz kill.
I told him I’d give up looking down the kitchenware aisles even though it pained me to do so. One time I found a new saucepan for only eight dollars! And it was the Cephalon expensive kind too. But does Tom appreciate that? No, he doesn’t.
On the drive home some of the roads looked a little frightening.
“Be careful,” I warned Tom.
“Don’t worry,” he said seriously. “We won’t skid. Because we have the power of FOUR WHEEL DRIVE! Hey. Why are you covering your ears?”
“So I won’t go deaf,” I answered.
Oh, and one more thing. Tom wants me to remind everyone that you must make sure all the snow is removed from your back window and your license plate before you drive. Tom says that if he were a state trooper that he’d pull over all those people with the covered plates. Apparently he counted over ten people who had their license plate covered with snow and this bothered him.
“I’d pull you over. And I’ll pull you over. Oh, and I’ll pull you over too,” Tom pointed to cars as we drove along. “How hard is it for people to take care of their vehicles? How hard is it for people to care about other people’s safety?”
I think Tom has been married to me too long. He was starting a passionate speech. The same ones that I make when I’m trying to explain why I bought a dozen donuts AND Little Debbie snack cakes or where the bag of Gymboree clothes came from.
As we were nearly home, there was another mound of snow blocking our way. I could see Tom gearing up, prepared to say the words.
“I know, Tom, I know,” I said, cutting him off. “We’ll be okay. Because we have,” and I raised my voice at this, “FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!”
Most people would stay indoors.
But not us.
No. Tom was all, “Do you want to go to Target? I need to get new headphones since you vacuumed up my other ones.”
Okay, first of all, I didn’t vacuum up his headphones. Just the cord. And it wasn’t totally MY fault. If he had picked up his cord instead of leaving it on the floor, then I wouldn’t have sucked it up now would I?
“Tom. It’s icy outside. I don’t think it’s safe,” I reminded him, peering out the window.
“You forget that we have the power of...FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!” Tom boomed, punching the air as he shouted the words FOUR WHEEL DRIVE.
He startled me, actually. You don’t start speaking normally and then suddenly shout. It’s just poor taste.
“I mean...I guess,” I agreed.
So we all trooped out to the truck. I slipped as I stepped up on the foot rail to get into my seat. There was some ice there so I went face first into the seat. And it’s leather so it smacked me in the forehead.
“Stupid truck,” I muttered as I settled down.
Tom’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Excuse me?” He’s seriously in love with his truck. Sometimes I want to say, “Why don’t I just leave the two of you alone?”
There was a small mound of snow at the edge of our driveway. I wasn’t sure if we’d even be able to get out.
“That looks rather high,” I commented.
“Ahhh. To other cars, it would be too high. But not when you have FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!” Tom yelled, gripping the wheel excitedly.
I jumped again and massaged my ear. “Could you not scream like that?”
We burst right through the snow. We didn’t even skid once.
When we got to Target I started doing my normal Target rounds. For those who don’t know, this means I look everywhere because you never know where you’ll find things for 75% off. Tom found me wandering the towel area.
“I’m confused. Why are we here?”
He always asks me why I’m in a certain section even though I’ve told him a billion times that when I’m in Target, I have to look everywhere.
“Some of the college stuff is 75% off. Look at this comforter! Only nine bucks! Too bad that it’s twin sized,” I mused.
Tom made a face. “We don’t need any comforters. Even if they are 75% off. We have a perfectly good comforter.”
I patted his head lovingly. Poor deranged Tom.
He started to get impatient when I went down another aisle. “Amber. I’m ready to go home. I found what I needed. I had to shovel snow for nearly an hour and I’m tired and cranky and I just want to go home! ”
Geez.
Target buzz kill.
I told him I’d give up looking down the kitchenware aisles even though it pained me to do so. One time I found a new saucepan for only eight dollars! And it was the Cephalon expensive kind too. But does Tom appreciate that? No, he doesn’t.
On the drive home some of the roads looked a little frightening.
“Be careful,” I warned Tom.
“Don’t worry,” he said seriously. “We won’t skid. Because we have the power of FOUR WHEEL DRIVE! Hey. Why are you covering your ears?”
“So I won’t go deaf,” I answered.
Oh, and one more thing. Tom wants me to remind everyone that you must make sure all the snow is removed from your back window and your license plate before you drive. Tom says that if he were a state trooper that he’d pull over all those people with the covered plates. Apparently he counted over ten people who had their license plate covered with snow and this bothered him.
“I’d pull you over. And I’ll pull you over. Oh, and I’ll pull you over too,” Tom pointed to cars as we drove along. “How hard is it for people to take care of their vehicles? How hard is it for people to care about other people’s safety?”
I think Tom has been married to me too long. He was starting a passionate speech. The same ones that I make when I’m trying to explain why I bought a dozen donuts AND Little Debbie snack cakes or where the bag of Gymboree clothes came from.
As we were nearly home, there was another mound of snow blocking our way. I could see Tom gearing up, prepared to say the words.
“I know, Tom, I know,” I said, cutting him off. “We’ll be okay. Because we have,” and I raised my voice at this, “FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!”
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The End of an Era
It is early Saturday morning and already so much has been done and yet, there is so much left to do. Friday was such a disjointed day...It started out good...last day of the nine weeks, day before Fall Break begins,...life was not bad...until 7:05. My dear friend Anelia Bruce came to my room yesterday morning and wanted to talk about my dad and Thursday's move to the Healthcare Center. I had so much to do and really sat there wishing she would leave...when Frank walked in...and I knew from the look on his face...my dad's batttle with cancer was over. I felt as if I had been gut punched. I vaguely remember getting from my desk chair to Frank's car(which he parked in the bus line in front of our school...a no no!)...I remember hugging my boss, getting in the car and heading to Dadeville. The normally 15-20 minute ride seemed like hours. My mom did not know yet...they were waiting for me to get there to tell her. She was asleep when we arrived and looking so precious. I had a few moments with my dad and then we woke her up. The rest of the day is a blurr. We held the body at the Healthcare facility until my daughter, Kat got there...my cousin Judy, Kat, our D.S. (District Superintendent), his lovely wife, Jeannie, Frank's mentor, Dee Dowdy, and Blue came...along with Carol and Bill Meadows (Carol is a Hospice volunteer assigned to my dad....and her brother and his wife)all arrived and Dr. Stryker gathered us together and asked if we could lift up Blessed Assurance. I started it off...it felt so natural to be singing. Then he followed up with the sweetest prayer...and then the Healthcare Center called Radneys to come and get my father. The rest of us headed back to the house to begin to deal with the process of my dad's death and grieving. Judy and I, with the help of Kat and Mary picked out the stuff for my dad, got some pictures together, cleaned house and received guests. We went to the funeral home 12:30 to make arrangements and iron out all the details of the rest of the weekend. While we were at the funeral home we viewed the casket my dad chose...picked out books...and those of you who have ever been here....know what this is like. I can't even tell you much about the hour we were there...a sweet young man droned...and I tried to keep up. BUT...when the sweet little girl came in to talk with us about the little programs people pick up at the visitation and other stuff...I nearly laughed out loud. Sitting on a table were something she called memory candles...she talked about them...I half listened...until she told us that they were made from the flowers of the funeral....all of a sudden that seemed like the grossest thing I have ever heard and I looked at all the people at the table, Kat, Mom, Mark, Judy, Frank...and realized that they thought so too...I coughed to keep from laughing out loud...it was just one of those moments...that laughing would NOT have been the right thing to do. Who ever thought of a memory candle...come on! Anyways throughout the day people were called, people called, food showed up, the day came and went. I have to laugh because about 8:30 my mom asked me who all these people were in the house....I told her they were family and friends who loved Daddy and love her....she then followed up with, "Will they ever go away?" I had to laugh...we finally got her to go to bed about 9:45...and my sweet Mary and my sweet Judy told me they were staying the night because my mom might wander off...They talked me into laying down about 12:30. The visitation will be tonight at Radney's....from 5-8. We will all gather at the Methodist Church in Kellyton for lunch on Sunday around 12:45...Daddy will lie in state at the Kellyton Baptist Church from 2 - 3...the funeral will be at 3...and burial will follow at Hillview. My dad will be buried next to my brother. I want you all to know that I am ok. I am pleasantly numb right now. My dad died exactly as I would have wanted him to...he fell asleep and never woke up. He was so at peace when I saw him for the first time...he actually had a little smirk on his face...like "Ha Ha...beat cha!" And beat me he did...yesterday morning...when I got there...my dad was already sipping coffee with Judy's dad Wilson, his two other brothers...Cecil and Drew...and playing catch with my little brother. Mark, Drew's son...said yesterday that my dad, "Never let a lie get in the way of a good story."...so you see...I get it honest...Drew, Cecil, Wilson, Doug....they all had a story for you...and after yesterday I can't wait to share them with you. Bless You Real Good.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The Brownie Trick
The plan?
To trick Tom.
How?
To pretend that I was making his beloved Duncan Hines brownies when in reality I’d be making the Betty Crocker ones.
You see, Tom insists that Duncan Hines are the best brownies on earth. He refuses to eat any other because he claims that all the others are gross.
I don’t agree.
I’ll eat any brownie.
Tom will not.
Once I made the Betty Crocker brownies and he took a small nibble and said that it was awful.
So this is what I did:
I bought both boxes.
And I told Tom I’d make brownies. He saw the Duncan Hines box. But then when he was out in the living room, I switched and used the Betty Crocker mix.
When I slid the brownies into the oven, I brought the bowl out to Tom to lick up the batter.
You know I like you when I let you lick the batter. Usually the batter belongs to me. Salmonella be damned.
“Thanks!” Tom said brightly, taking the spoon I handed over. He took a bit of leftover batter and stuck it in his mouth. He didn’t have any strange reaction so I started to think, “See? He didn’t notice the difference!”
But then Tom made a face and stared hard at the bowl. “This tastes weird. Did you forget to add the eggs?”
He wasn’t being rude. I seriously forget to add things when I cook. Once I made chocolate chip cookies and forgot the chocolate chips. I do not know how it happened.
“I put everything in,” I assured him. Dammit! He figured it out! He--
Tom shrugged. “Hmm. Okay. It’s still good. It’s just…different.”
AHA. It’s STILL GOOD!
When the brownies came out I let them cool and then brought one out to Tom.
“Thanks!” he said again and took a big bite.
This time, there was no reaction.
I practically clicked my heels when I went back into the kitchen.
You see, Tom! You can eat Betty Crocker brownies and be just fine! I was already working out my Ha Ha I Fooled You Speech.
“Amber? I’m not trying to be rude here but this brownie tastes…off,” Tom said, coming into the kitchen.
CRAP!
I froze like a deer in the headlights.
“Um…” I stuttered. Sometimes I can be an awful liar. My face will turn bright red and my tongue freezes to the top of my mouth.
Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “What did you do?” He peered at the last bit of brownie in his hand and sniffed it. “What did you do?” Then his eyes swiveled to the trash can where I had stupidity tossed the Betty Crocker box. Tom and I raced for it at the same time. I stood in front of it, trying to block his view.
“I did nothing!” I shrieked.
“Yes you did!” Tom shouted, reaching his oversized hand around me. It’s not fair that men have longer limbs!
He managed to see the box that I had tried to hide under a paper plate.
“I KNEW it!” he said, pointing at me. “I KNEW it!”
I shook my head. “It’s not what it seems!” I shouted.
“It seems like you pretended to make Duncan Hines brownies when in reality you made Betty Crocker brownies!” Tom yelled, tapping the trash can.
Oh. Well then I guess it’s exactly what it seems.
“Amber. How many times do I have to tell you? Duncin Hines brownies are the best. Their commercial even says that ‘it’s not just a brownie.’ Because it’s not,” Tom lectured.
“If it’s not just a brownie, then what else is it?” I teased.
Tom looked momentarily confused. “Well. I don’t know. But what I do know is that Duncan Hines brownies rule.” He frowned at the Betty Crocker brownies. “And I don’t know what those are. But they aren’t brownies.” And then he stalked out of the kitchen.
I didn’t mind though.
Not really.
Because hey!
It means more brownies for me.
To trick Tom.
How?
To pretend that I was making his beloved Duncan Hines brownies when in reality I’d be making the Betty Crocker ones.
You see, Tom insists that Duncan Hines are the best brownies on earth. He refuses to eat any other because he claims that all the others are gross.
I don’t agree.
I’ll eat any brownie.
Tom will not.
Once I made the Betty Crocker brownies and he took a small nibble and said that it was awful.
So this is what I did:
I bought both boxes.
And I told Tom I’d make brownies. He saw the Duncan Hines box. But then when he was out in the living room, I switched and used the Betty Crocker mix.
When I slid the brownies into the oven, I brought the bowl out to Tom to lick up the batter.
You know I like you when I let you lick the batter. Usually the batter belongs to me. Salmonella be damned.
“Thanks!” Tom said brightly, taking the spoon I handed over. He took a bit of leftover batter and stuck it in his mouth. He didn’t have any strange reaction so I started to think, “See? He didn’t notice the difference!”
But then Tom made a face and stared hard at the bowl. “This tastes weird. Did you forget to add the eggs?”
He wasn’t being rude. I seriously forget to add things when I cook. Once I made chocolate chip cookies and forgot the chocolate chips. I do not know how it happened.
“I put everything in,” I assured him. Dammit! He figured it out! He--
Tom shrugged. “Hmm. Okay. It’s still good. It’s just…different.”
AHA. It’s STILL GOOD!
When the brownies came out I let them cool and then brought one out to Tom.
“Thanks!” he said again and took a big bite.
This time, there was no reaction.
I practically clicked my heels when I went back into the kitchen.
You see, Tom! You can eat Betty Crocker brownies and be just fine! I was already working out my Ha Ha I Fooled You Speech.
“Amber? I’m not trying to be rude here but this brownie tastes…off,” Tom said, coming into the kitchen.
CRAP!
I froze like a deer in the headlights.
“Um…” I stuttered. Sometimes I can be an awful liar. My face will turn bright red and my tongue freezes to the top of my mouth.
Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “What did you do?” He peered at the last bit of brownie in his hand and sniffed it. “What did you do?” Then his eyes swiveled to the trash can where I had stupidity tossed the Betty Crocker box. Tom and I raced for it at the same time. I stood in front of it, trying to block his view.
“I did nothing!” I shrieked.
“Yes you did!” Tom shouted, reaching his oversized hand around me. It’s not fair that men have longer limbs!
He managed to see the box that I had tried to hide under a paper plate.
“I KNEW it!” he said, pointing at me. “I KNEW it!”
I shook my head. “It’s not what it seems!” I shouted.
“It seems like you pretended to make Duncan Hines brownies when in reality you made Betty Crocker brownies!” Tom yelled, tapping the trash can.
Oh. Well then I guess it’s exactly what it seems.
“Amber. How many times do I have to tell you? Duncin Hines brownies are the best. Their commercial even says that ‘it’s not just a brownie.’ Because it’s not,” Tom lectured.
“If it’s not just a brownie, then what else is it?” I teased.
Tom looked momentarily confused. “Well. I don’t know. But what I do know is that Duncan Hines brownies rule.” He frowned at the Betty Crocker brownies. “And I don’t know what those are. But they aren’t brownies.” And then he stalked out of the kitchen.
I didn’t mind though.
Not really.
Because hey!
It means more brownies for me.
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