Yesterday at 3:30 p.m. I wanted a real Coke soooo bad. It took tremendous willpower, but I conquered. It's still calling me. Today, I may succumb. Those things are soo good!
I'm weird. I don't drink anything that doesn't have caffeine until lunch. We're talking 2-3 cups of coffee, and I'm sipping soda by noon. Depending on the day and degree of sleep deprivation, I may have another cup of coffee after that. But after 2 p.m., it's all water, or Crystal Light. Or if I'm desperate, Sprite. I read somewhere that drinking caffeine too late in the day will mess with your sleep. That, my friends, will tick me off. Which will keep me from falling asleep. Which will tick me off even more, and so on. It could get ugly.
Normally I drink Diet Dr. K from Kroger. I'm trying to avoid the sugar and calories in an "un-diet" soda. These taste pretty close to the real Diet Dr. Pepper and they're like $2 a case. It hurts me to think of paying $4 a case for the good stuff.
My doc was thisclose to putting me on diabetes medicine on my last visit. I am happy to report that within the last three months, I've reduced my blood sugar level to normal proportions. He congratulated me on my accomplishment and said if I don't stay here, I will definitely become diabetic. I also have to keep my weight down. I was sure I'd gained, but Monday he told me I'd lost three pounds. I'm not at all sure that's not because I wore heavy boots, jeans and a heavy sweater the first time. I don't care. Three pounds is three pounds. I'll take it! But perhaps we won't tell him about the Krispy Kremes I ate this week, just in case. Shhhh!
So anyway...I don't know what it is about these migraines that make me crave a Coke. Maybe I just like having a good excuse for drinking them. Regardless, the headache still lingers. Therefore, I forsee indulging in a real Coke lunch today. I'm going with "It's a medically necessary."
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
More randoms
When I started blogging, my goal was a blog post a day, no matter how long or short. Unfortunately, I'm long winded...or whatever you call it when a keyboard's involved. And a quick blog post can take me an hour. Most of the time, I just don't have it. Then I realize with horror it's been three or four days since I've blogged last.
I don't have anything to say tonight, really. Actually, thinking is rather painful at the moment. But I wanted to write anyway.
I've got a bit of a migraine. Mine aren't so bad that they're debilitating, thankfully. It just hurts and makes me want to sleep for about two days. Or at least until it's better.
So anyway... here are my random thoughts for today:
* I looked up orphanages today. It's really sad how many there are, that there are that many children that don't even have the most basic need of a parent's love. And I will stop there or this blog post will get soppy in a hurry.
* I wrote about disc golf today. I learned to play last week. Apparently, I don't suck at it! Perhaps if I'd quit laughing awkwardly while I thow the disc, that would help me avoid the trees. What can I say? I'm goofy like that.
* I got to spend the morning at Historic Augusta. I've been twice so far, and every time I go I wish I could stay longer. I learned some things about Harrisburg that I didn't know. Did you know that there was once a "fashionable" section along 15th Street and Walton Way? It was the main route from downtown to Summerville on "The Hill." This neighborhood, which has always been largely blue-collar and was where my family on both sides had their roots, is now a blight, a drug-ridden neighborhood most people are afraid to be in after dark.
* True love, people, is staying up with a migraine until the washing machine finishes washing your son's baseball pants so they'll be dry by morning, because he has a game tomorrow. And you forgot about them last night. And you send the child on to bed because he needs his sleep. And circling back to random thought #1 for a minute, how can anyone not want to do that for someone else? I don't think I'll ever understand.
* I was watching chick flicks while the kids were at church. I hardly ever watch TV, unless it's a movie. And I abhor reality TV. Documentaries are one thing. Cake deocorating or home shows or something you can learn from it is one thing. Talent shows are okay. But a lot of that trash like Jersey Shore or Real Housewives makes Jerry Springer look like Sesame Street. I have to say I was horrified at some of the families now exploiting themselves on reality TV to make a quick buck. The Judds?? Really??? I always thought Naomi was a very classy woman. Hmmm...maybe not. Frankly, I don't think I really want to get to know her that well.
* Perhaps that's enough random thoughts for now. The washer's on spin, I'm waiting with bated breath and there are two Excedrine PMs with my name on them. I hope ya'll have a wonderful night!
I don't have anything to say tonight, really. Actually, thinking is rather painful at the moment. But I wanted to write anyway.
I've got a bit of a migraine. Mine aren't so bad that they're debilitating, thankfully. It just hurts and makes me want to sleep for about two days. Or at least until it's better.
So anyway... here are my random thoughts for today:
* I looked up orphanages today. It's really sad how many there are, that there are that many children that don't even have the most basic need of a parent's love. And I will stop there or this blog post will get soppy in a hurry.
* I wrote about disc golf today. I learned to play last week. Apparently, I don't suck at it! Perhaps if I'd quit laughing awkwardly while I thow the disc, that would help me avoid the trees. What can I say? I'm goofy like that.
* I got to spend the morning at Historic Augusta. I've been twice so far, and every time I go I wish I could stay longer. I learned some things about Harrisburg that I didn't know. Did you know that there was once a "fashionable" section along 15th Street and Walton Way? It was the main route from downtown to Summerville on "The Hill." This neighborhood, which has always been largely blue-collar and was where my family on both sides had their roots, is now a blight, a drug-ridden neighborhood most people are afraid to be in after dark.
* True love, people, is staying up with a migraine until the washing machine finishes washing your son's baseball pants so they'll be dry by morning, because he has a game tomorrow. And you forgot about them last night. And you send the child on to bed because he needs his sleep. And circling back to random thought #1 for a minute, how can anyone not want to do that for someone else? I don't think I'll ever understand.
* I was watching chick flicks while the kids were at church. I hardly ever watch TV, unless it's a movie. And I abhor reality TV. Documentaries are one thing. Cake deocorating or home shows or something you can learn from it is one thing. Talent shows are okay. But a lot of that trash like Jersey Shore or Real Housewives makes Jerry Springer look like Sesame Street. I have to say I was horrified at some of the families now exploiting themselves on reality TV to make a quick buck. The Judds?? Really??? I always thought Naomi was a very classy woman. Hmmm...maybe not. Frankly, I don't think I really want to get to know her that well.
* Perhaps that's enough random thoughts for now. The washer's on spin, I'm waiting with bated breath and there are two Excedrine PMs with my name on them. I hope ya'll have a wonderful night!
Monday, March 28, 2011
They're growing up
My son has decided to take up yoga. He's tired of being sleepy all the time. So he'd decided to wake up at 5:30 every morning and stretch out some to see if that helps him wake up. It will mean, he says, that he will need to be in bed by 8:30 or 9 p.m. We'll see how long that lasts. I should join him in the workouts, but frankly, I don't wanna be up that early! I've got to buy him sodas to drink, to see if that helps him, since he won't drink coffee. I wish you could have seen how much it pained the doctor to suggest that!
My daughter has decided she wants to get to school early every day to hang out with her friends before class. We went through a brief period where I would take her and grumble about it the whole way. The bus picks her up just a few feet from the house, and taking both of them to school puts a severe crimp in my own morning routine. So last week she started walking. The coolest part? She now gets herself out of bed, gets herself dressed and gets herself to school.
Like them turning 13 and 16 doesn't mean they're growing up enough. It's bittersweet. I love that they're taking responsibility, but it means they're growing up more. I wonder how many other parents of teenagers feel that empty nest looming already? These moments are as momentous as their first steps. And there are still more to come.
But anyway, now if their Mama could get her butt in gear in the mornings, we'll be in business!
My daughter has decided she wants to get to school early every day to hang out with her friends before class. We went through a brief period where I would take her and grumble about it the whole way. The bus picks her up just a few feet from the house, and taking both of them to school puts a severe crimp in my own morning routine. So last week she started walking. The coolest part? She now gets herself out of bed, gets herself dressed and gets herself to school.
Like them turning 13 and 16 doesn't mean they're growing up enough. It's bittersweet. I love that they're taking responsibility, but it means they're growing up more. I wonder how many other parents of teenagers feel that empty nest looming already? These moments are as momentous as their first steps. And there are still more to come.
But anyway, now if their Mama could get her butt in gear in the mornings, we'll be in business!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Rain, rain, go aw...nevermind.
I've been kind of tired this week. It's a state that produces ten thousand thoughts, not one worth pursuing.
But here are a couple of quick hits anyway:
* It's storming out. I was looking forward to falling asleep to the sound of it last night. The only thing that would have made it better is if my roof were tin.
* The next door neighbor got a new dog. Most of you missed it when they had five Jack Russell Terriers, who all lived outside. And barked at squirrels. At 3 a.m. Right outside my window. This one is as cute he as can be. And woke me up at 6 a.m. Darnit!
* Box fans do a fantastic job of blocking out barking dogs. And the rain. Darnit!
* I don't own an umbrella. It's dumb, I know. I did have one, but it was blown inside out too many times and I haven't thought to get a new one. I never do til I need one. Today's style forcast: air dryed hair with a 100 percent chance of curls. Hopefully it will mask that drowned rat look.
*I'm predicting a nap later. And laundry. And I have a story to write for work Nice and lazy. Maybe rainy days and Sundays ain't so bad.
* On a completely different note, I went to sing karaoke last night. I really need to do that more often. Having your own cheering section does wonders for the self esteem. I figure I get bonus points if my clappers, hooters and hollerers aren't even at my table. Does it count if they are barely of age and obviously well above the legal blood/alchohol level? Ah, whatever. I'm taking it anyway! ;)
* I finally found the perfect shade of lipstick last week. No more mixing colors. Yay! That just deserved celebrating somewhere. You're welcome. ;)
* I have got to make it to church this morning, so I've got to run. I've missed too many Sundays already. Have a good one!
But here are a couple of quick hits anyway:
* It's storming out. I was looking forward to falling asleep to the sound of it last night. The only thing that would have made it better is if my roof were tin.
* The next door neighbor got a new dog. Most of you missed it when they had five Jack Russell Terriers, who all lived outside. And barked at squirrels. At 3 a.m. Right outside my window. This one is as cute he as can be. And woke me up at 6 a.m. Darnit!
* Box fans do a fantastic job of blocking out barking dogs. And the rain. Darnit!
* I don't own an umbrella. It's dumb, I know. I did have one, but it was blown inside out too many times and I haven't thought to get a new one. I never do til I need one. Today's style forcast: air dryed hair with a 100 percent chance of curls. Hopefully it will mask that drowned rat look.
*I'm predicting a nap later. And laundry. And I have a story to write for work Nice and lazy. Maybe rainy days and Sundays ain't so bad.
* On a completely different note, I went to sing karaoke last night. I really need to do that more often. Having your own cheering section does wonders for the self esteem. I figure I get bonus points if my clappers, hooters and hollerers aren't even at my table. Does it count if they are barely of age and obviously well above the legal blood/alchohol level? Ah, whatever. I'm taking it anyway! ;)
* I finally found the perfect shade of lipstick last week. No more mixing colors. Yay! That just deserved celebrating somewhere. You're welcome. ;)
* I have got to make it to church this morning, so I've got to run. I've missed too many Sundays already. Have a good one!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Billy Dean :)
[I started writing this blog post yesterday, and then my keyboard went on the fritz. Now, weirdly enough, it's working again, so I had to finish it. Here you go...]
It's so weird the random things that come to mind...and at the weirdest times, too.
Tonight I was driving down Washington Road near I-20 and my mind flashed back to a guy I met during my brief stint as a waitress. This was a really flippin' random flash of memory. Gosh, what was it? 1992? Or 1993, I think? I think I was 18, and he looked like Billy Dean.
Remember Billy Dean? Aw man, what a cutie! I can't even remember the guy's name now. It was probably Brian. Or Bryan. Or Brien. Or Bryen. Or Chris. But I doubt it.
I don't remember much about him. Like, I don't even remember if he had the full-on mullet. But I do remember he sure helped kill a few dull hours in between customers at The Kettle. (Think cross between Waffle House and Shoney's.)
I sucked as a waitress. Never got even a little bit good at it the whole three months I worked there. I was on the slowest shift...something like 10 a.m.-6 p.m. The manager disappeared every day around noon or 1, so it was just me and the cook all afternoon.
This was in my brilliant years. I didn't need my parents, see. So I convinced myself they didn't care for me and moved in with Hope. I spent too much time with whoever could buy me beer, and not enough time in college. I dropped out two weeks before the end of my first quarter...and didn't go back for nine years. I almost lost my car, got five hours sleep a night if I was lucky, had a lousy boyfriend and was fortunate enough to be allowed to eat off the hot bar for free. It was the best meal I'd have all day.
Somewhere in the middle of one of those long, dull, sleep-deprived afternoons, my Billy Dean look-alike wandered in. As I recall, he said he had just moved to the area and was staying with his brother in an apartment over on Stevens Creek Road, but he had locked himself out. He came to the restaurant to kill time until his brother got home from work.
He drank sweet tea and kept me company for a little while, and then walked over to the gas station. What did he go for? Cigarettes? Did he even smoke? Ah...I remember. A newspaper! The door barely shut behind him before I was calling Hope. I said, "You have got to come see this guy. He looks just like Billy Dean, I swear! And he's nice! For real! No...he went to the gas station, so I don't have long to talk, but get your butt up here NOW!! Okaaay then. But next time he comes up here, you've got to come see this guy. I mean it!" Or something like that.
All I know is, I never saw anybody lose his keys as much as that boy did. It happened at least a few more times over the next couple of weeks. He'd bring his newspaper with him, talk to me while I ate, sip tea while I waited on my one or two tables. Then I'd sit back down at the table with him and roll silverware or something. I don't remember what we talked about. He never asked me out. Or maybe he hadn't gotten around to it yet. Or maybe he had, and I very lightly brushed him off, because I had to. Come to think of it, I'm sure it was the latter. I vaguely remember offering some lame excuse.
Darn my loyal hide. Why stay faithful to a guy who was more interested in his dope than he was in me? Because loyalty is a point of pride with me and at that moment, it was the right thing to do.
So once, I brought up my boyfriend. (I remember this part very well.) "Your boyfriend?" Billy Dean had repeated with a cocked eyebrow.
I had to 'fess up. "I never said anything about my boyfriend?" I tried to sound innocent. I knew full well I hadn't said anything about my boyfriend (who incidentally, with his thick black ponytail and carefully manicured goatee, looked nothing like Billy Dean.)
I don't remember what happened next. All I know is, he never lost his keys again.
And now he's filed away under "Gee, I wonder whatever happened to What's His Name?"
It's so weird the random things that come to mind...and at the weirdest times, too.
Tonight I was driving down Washington Road near I-20 and my mind flashed back to a guy I met during my brief stint as a waitress. This was a really flippin' random flash of memory. Gosh, what was it? 1992? Or 1993, I think? I think I was 18, and he looked like Billy Dean.
Remember Billy Dean? Aw man, what a cutie! I can't even remember the guy's name now. It was probably Brian. Or Bryan. Or Brien. Or Bryen. Or Chris. But I doubt it.
I don't remember much about him. Like, I don't even remember if he had the full-on mullet. But I do remember he sure helped kill a few dull hours in between customers at The Kettle. (Think cross between Waffle House and Shoney's.)
I sucked as a waitress. Never got even a little bit good at it the whole three months I worked there. I was on the slowest shift...something like 10 a.m.-6 p.m. The manager disappeared every day around noon or 1, so it was just me and the cook all afternoon.
This was in my brilliant years. I didn't need my parents, see. So I convinced myself they didn't care for me and moved in with Hope. I spent too much time with whoever could buy me beer, and not enough time in college. I dropped out two weeks before the end of my first quarter...and didn't go back for nine years. I almost lost my car, got five hours sleep a night if I was lucky, had a lousy boyfriend and was fortunate enough to be allowed to eat off the hot bar for free. It was the best meal I'd have all day.
Somewhere in the middle of one of those long, dull, sleep-deprived afternoons, my Billy Dean look-alike wandered in. As I recall, he said he had just moved to the area and was staying with his brother in an apartment over on Stevens Creek Road, but he had locked himself out. He came to the restaurant to kill time until his brother got home from work.
He drank sweet tea and kept me company for a little while, and then walked over to the gas station. What did he go for? Cigarettes? Did he even smoke? Ah...I remember. A newspaper! The door barely shut behind him before I was calling Hope. I said, "You have got to come see this guy. He looks just like Billy Dean, I swear! And he's nice! For real! No...he went to the gas station, so I don't have long to talk, but get your butt up here NOW!! Okaaay then. But next time he comes up here, you've got to come see this guy. I mean it!" Or something like that.
All I know is, I never saw anybody lose his keys as much as that boy did. It happened at least a few more times over the next couple of weeks. He'd bring his newspaper with him, talk to me while I ate, sip tea while I waited on my one or two tables. Then I'd sit back down at the table with him and roll silverware or something. I don't remember what we talked about. He never asked me out. Or maybe he hadn't gotten around to it yet. Or maybe he had, and I very lightly brushed him off, because I had to. Come to think of it, I'm sure it was the latter. I vaguely remember offering some lame excuse.
Darn my loyal hide. Why stay faithful to a guy who was more interested in his dope than he was in me? Because loyalty is a point of pride with me and at that moment, it was the right thing to do.
So once, I brought up my boyfriend. (I remember this part very well.) "Your boyfriend?" Billy Dean had repeated with a cocked eyebrow.
I had to 'fess up. "I never said anything about my boyfriend?" I tried to sound innocent. I knew full well I hadn't said anything about my boyfriend (who incidentally, with his thick black ponytail and carefully manicured goatee, looked nothing like Billy Dean.)
I don't remember what happened next. All I know is, he never lost his keys again.
And now he's filed away under "Gee, I wonder whatever happened to What's His Name?"
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Walking and talking
I walk with Cathy just about every night. She's one of my oldest and dearest friends, but we'd lost touch and large chunks of time over the years. So sometimes on our walks, I tell her stories about my life as Ron's wife, just to fill her in on that lost time. We've dubbed them "The Ron Stories." She says they're better than reality TV. Tonight she came up with a better title: "The Ronicles." I love it! I think that will be what I'll call my memoir. Here's the thing. I don't badmouth him. I don't trash him. I don't need to. I don't care enough anymore to spew venom. I'm upset about the hurt he has caused my children, but even that is dimming. I doubt it will fully go away.
I tell my stories in much the same tone as I tell the stories I share here (at least I think I do.) These are just things that have happened, like the Jacksonville story. They're true, and sometimes they defy logic.
For instance, he once bought a bus on eBay for $500. He drove it from Montgomery, Ala. to Augusta, Ga. with a suspended license, no CDL, and no vehicle insurance. The reasoning was that he would convert it into an RV/car hauler so he could travel the racing circuit. It sat in a parking lot for over a year untouched. The racecar never materialized, either. I was upset because that money could have better been used for, oh, I don't know...rent? Insurance? A phone?
Okay...a lot of times these stories defied logic. Sometimes, the idea of sharing these stories with the world at large makes me feel vulnerable. But it's becoming evident to me that even if I never share them with the world, I do need to write this stuff down. Because these things did happen. Because one day my children will need to know their dad, even if it's just through my recollection of him and our life together (which means I owe it to them, myself and anyone else who may read it to be as fair in my memories as possible.) Because frankly, it is entertaining. You just can't make this stuff up!
I'll try to share some here, too, as they come to mind and seem appropriate. We are the sum total of our experiences, and these things helped shape who I am today. For that, and for two amazing kids, I am thankful for my marriage to him.
I tell my stories in much the same tone as I tell the stories I share here (at least I think I do.) These are just things that have happened, like the Jacksonville story. They're true, and sometimes they defy logic.
For instance, he once bought a bus on eBay for $500. He drove it from Montgomery, Ala. to Augusta, Ga. with a suspended license, no CDL, and no vehicle insurance. The reasoning was that he would convert it into an RV/car hauler so he could travel the racing circuit. It sat in a parking lot for over a year untouched. The racecar never materialized, either. I was upset because that money could have better been used for, oh, I don't know...rent? Insurance? A phone?
Okay...a lot of times these stories defied logic. Sometimes, the idea of sharing these stories with the world at large makes me feel vulnerable. But it's becoming evident to me that even if I never share them with the world, I do need to write this stuff down. Because these things did happen. Because one day my children will need to know their dad, even if it's just through my recollection of him and our life together (which means I owe it to them, myself and anyone else who may read it to be as fair in my memories as possible.) Because frankly, it is entertaining. You just can't make this stuff up!
I'll try to share some here, too, as they come to mind and seem appropriate. We are the sum total of our experiences, and these things helped shape who I am today. For that, and for two amazing kids, I am thankful for my marriage to him.
Friday, March 18, 2011
It pays to stay home, I think...
A few quick hits from my day so far...
1) Marble cakes are fun to make. Marble cupcakes are even better. Yes, I'm easily amused. It's fun to swirl the two flavors. It's like mini edible art! Catie wanted to help. I shooed her to clean her room and told her she could help frost them. Is that wrong?
2) Ever notice how fast 45 miles an hour is when an almost-16-year-old is behind the wheel? Feels like we go from Windsor Spring Road to the Daytona 500 in 0.2 seconds flat.
3) In a related note, ever notice how helpless you are in the passenger side of a vehicle? When an almost-16-year-old is in control of the brake, you realize very quickly how little control you actually have over any traffic situation. It's quite humbling. Miss Clairol and I can thank teen driving for our ever-deepening friendship.
4) And just like said teenager keeps reminding me, it boils down to how much or how little I trust him. Which makes me feel bad, until I remind him that I've been driving for 20 years, and the ink is barely dry on his permit. Trust is earned, baby, and it comes with experience!
*So what if he's eligible for his license next month. To me, this is still pretty new!!
5) Ever notice how, when you're out and about, McDonald's siren song gets louder and lounder in direct proportion to the amount of time you're still away from home at lunch time?
Seriously!! We're at the dentist today at lunchtime. I had every intention of going home to frugally fix sandwiches for lunch before dropping Christopher off at his friend's house, but the closer to 1 p.m. it got, and the hungrier we got, the farther away home seemed. (Yep...it's a whopping 5 minute drive...the other way) That evil McDonald's just stood there on that street corner, blew onion- and fry-scented kisses at us and begged us to drink from its thirst-quenching Coke fountains. "But you can have all of this for only a dollar," it pleaded. "You don't really want to go all the way home and then drive all the way back over here to Aaron's, do you?" *Sigh* It was just too much to resist. We succumbed. And now I'm $10 poorer in cash and 600 richer in calories. It's pure evil, I tell you!
1) Marble cakes are fun to make. Marble cupcakes are even better. Yes, I'm easily amused. It's fun to swirl the two flavors. It's like mini edible art! Catie wanted to help. I shooed her to clean her room and told her she could help frost them. Is that wrong?
2) Ever notice how fast 45 miles an hour is when an almost-16-year-old is behind the wheel? Feels like we go from Windsor Spring Road to the Daytona 500 in 0.2 seconds flat.
3) In a related note, ever notice how helpless you are in the passenger side of a vehicle? When an almost-16-year-old is in control of the brake, you realize very quickly how little control you actually have over any traffic situation. It's quite humbling. Miss Clairol and I can thank teen driving for our ever-deepening friendship.
4) And just like said teenager keeps reminding me, it boils down to how much or how little I trust him. Which makes me feel bad, until I remind him that I've been driving for 20 years, and the ink is barely dry on his permit. Trust is earned, baby, and it comes with experience!
*So what if he's eligible for his license next month. To me, this is still pretty new!!
5) Ever notice how, when you're out and about, McDonald's siren song gets louder and lounder in direct proportion to the amount of time you're still away from home at lunch time?
Seriously!! We're at the dentist today at lunchtime. I had every intention of going home to frugally fix sandwiches for lunch before dropping Christopher off at his friend's house, but the closer to 1 p.m. it got, and the hungrier we got, the farther away home seemed. (Yep...it's a whopping 5 minute drive...the other way) That evil McDonald's just stood there on that street corner, blew onion- and fry-scented kisses at us and begged us to drink from its thirst-quenching Coke fountains. "But you can have all of this for only a dollar," it pleaded. "You don't really want to go all the way home and then drive all the way back over here to Aaron's, do you?" *Sigh* It was just too much to resist. We succumbed. And now I'm $10 poorer in cash and 600 richer in calories. It's pure evil, I tell you!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
My daughter...
...has decorated
...my work notebook (yes, the one I used to interview a former mayoral candidate)
(She wrote my name on the outside
and silly song lyrics on the inside....)
...and my dinner.... (sadly, I had to smear him. I can only handle so much mustard in one bite.)
She is in her room right now, singing to something blaring out of her MP3 player while she cleans her room, which she opted to stay home from church to do because she won't have time the rest of the week. (It needed it. I can't argue.)
Sometimes, she backtalks so bad I want to throw her in the street by her pretty little ears.
Sometimes, she fights with her brother so bad he grabs her pretty little ears. Or her pretty little neck. And ugly words come from her pretty little mouth.
She will be 13 in two days.
In six years, (if everything follows the usual course) she will be gone. Off making her own life.
I can't help but wonder who is going to decorate my world then?
(Um..ahem....lemme just say now, if I have anything to say about it there will be no grandchildren to decorate anything for at least the next 15 years!)
...my work notebook (yes, the one I used to interview a former mayoral candidate)
(She wrote my name on the outside
and silly song lyrics on the inside....)
...and a sweet little surprise note for my desk...
...and my dinner.... (sadly, I had to smear him. I can only handle so much mustard in one bite.)
...and her bedroom door.
She has done everything I've asked her to do this week without complaint or backtalk (although not always the first time.)She is in her room right now, singing to something blaring out of her MP3 player while she cleans her room, which she opted to stay home from church to do because she won't have time the rest of the week. (It needed it. I can't argue.)
Sometimes, she backtalks so bad I want to throw her in the street by her pretty little ears.
Sometimes, she fights with her brother so bad he grabs her pretty little ears. Or her pretty little neck. And ugly words come from her pretty little mouth.
She will be 13 in two days.
In six years, (if everything follows the usual course) she will be gone. Off making her own life.
I can't help but wonder who is going to decorate my world then?
(Um..ahem....lemme just say now, if I have anything to say about it there will be no grandchildren to decorate anything for at least the next 15 years!)
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Springtime in the South. Oh yeah!
Last night was awesome. I love spring. Well, not the pollen. My car right now looks like it's contracted some kind of awful yellow pox. Except for the body-clock-out-of whack part, I'm loving that we're back on daylight savings time. And the weather's gorgeous to boot. Me and Catie sat on the back porch last night and ate our waffles and grits after Christopher's game. He stayed in the house reading the comics. We were girl talking about people we knew, things we've done, who's being good and who's being bad at her school. She said some things that made me really proud!
We had some country music playing from living room TV, loud enough to be heard but soft enough to be just background noise. It's still too early for bugs, so it was really nice out there. I thought, "This must be what Heaven is like." I think so...70 degrees, no bugs, every house has a comfy back porch and a view of a lake....or a pretty green field...listening to nothing but the crickets and watching the lightening bugs (okay...maybe it will have the good bugs!), and everybody's just sitting around in the twilight, drinking sweet iced tea and enjoying each other's company. And Jesus right in the middle, telling all the best stories! :)
We had some country music playing from living room TV, loud enough to be heard but soft enough to be just background noise. It's still too early for bugs, so it was really nice out there. I thought, "This must be what Heaven is like." I think so...70 degrees, no bugs, every house has a comfy back porch and a view of a lake....or a pretty green field...listening to nothing but the crickets and watching the lightening bugs (okay...maybe it will have the good bugs!), and everybody's just sitting around in the twilight, drinking sweet iced tea and enjoying each other's company. And Jesus right in the middle, telling all the best stories! :)
Monday, March 14, 2011
My heart goes out to Japan
Tonight the kids and I were watching this video of the first wave of the Tsunami coming ashore. Catie watched it in class today. I happened upon it. Christopher watched it for the first time tonight with us. His reaction: "The cars look like some kid threw a whole bunch of Matchbox cars into a creek or something."
In the very beginning, when the video pans to the parking lot, if you look really closely you can see a man running next to the buildings. Christopher wanted to know why there were people standing on an upper level balcony taping it instead of running to save their lives. I want to know if any of them made it out alive. I want to know if they had enough warning.
Thousands have died, but the survivors are really suffering. This article says they're grieving and starving. Can you imagine the fear they must still be living under? Every breath has to be a struggle. If I feel helpless watching their homes and cars...their entire lives...being swept out to sea, and reading about how they can't find their family, how much more helpless must they feel? My children are down the hall. I'm reasonably certain my parents are safely in their own homes. Tonight I'm climbing into a nice warm bed. My belly's full and I will sleep well. Tomorrow I will wake up, bemoan the fact that I didn't get to sleep longer, get into my little car that was made in this now-desperate country and drive to work, singing at the top of my lungs. I will laugh with my co-workers, complain about some petty thing or another, and this devastation will be almost as many miles from my thoughts as it is from my person. And then someone will mention Japan and I will remember, utter a silent prayer, and again feel very small and helpless. What can I do in the face of such loss?
I watch all these videos and read these articles, and I think you know, we could be next. We're not safe. If not a tsunami, a tornado. Oh yes they happen here. If not a tsunami, what's to say an earthquake won't hit near Augusta. Just because it hasn't happened doesn't mean it couldn't.
It reminds me just how small we really are. It makes me stop and wonder what it's all for, all this working our lives away to buy bigger and better homes, cars, technology. To one-up the Joneses. So that people will look up to us. Respect us. What is that prestige when we're all -- millionaires and paupers -- huddled together, shivering, soaking wet in an abandoned building somewhere, eating dried Ramen noodles to keep alive. Even if we could afford million dollar homes, they look the same as shanty shacks floating in the ocean.
I want to buy a house of my own one day. Why? For security, I always said. So that once it's paid for, nobody can ever come take away the roof over my head. But if I spend a quarter of my earnings over the course of my lifetime on it, will it last? Maybe for as long as I'm alive. Or maybe not. I'm starting to think these things aren't what we should be spending our money on. Yes, we need shelter. But does it have to be 4,500 square feet for just two people? Do we really need that much space? Do we really need to drive a gas-guzzling Hummer? Especially when people are hungry. What if we all aspired to modest housing, to spending the money God entrusts to us on just what we need and spending the rest to meet another's needs (those that can't do it for themselves.) And that would be needs... you know, food, clothing, shelter, water, air. Not cell phones, Lexuses and 52-inch big screens. (And since a lot of that stuff came from Japan, I'm betting they just got more luxurious.)
I don't know, ya'll. Right now I'm tired, which gets my thoughts churning, and every time I see something new come out of this disaster I'm just heartsick about the people there who are just fighting to stay alive. If I had millions, I would take jetfuls of food and clean water to them. I hate to see people go hungry. As it is, all I can do is find a charity to give a few dollars to and pray. I really hope that helps.
In the very beginning, when the video pans to the parking lot, if you look really closely you can see a man running next to the buildings. Christopher wanted to know why there were people standing on an upper level balcony taping it instead of running to save their lives. I want to know if any of them made it out alive. I want to know if they had enough warning.
Thousands have died, but the survivors are really suffering. This article says they're grieving and starving. Can you imagine the fear they must still be living under? Every breath has to be a struggle. If I feel helpless watching their homes and cars...their entire lives...being swept out to sea, and reading about how they can't find their family, how much more helpless must they feel? My children are down the hall. I'm reasonably certain my parents are safely in their own homes. Tonight I'm climbing into a nice warm bed. My belly's full and I will sleep well. Tomorrow I will wake up, bemoan the fact that I didn't get to sleep longer, get into my little car that was made in this now-desperate country and drive to work, singing at the top of my lungs. I will laugh with my co-workers, complain about some petty thing or another, and this devastation will be almost as many miles from my thoughts as it is from my person. And then someone will mention Japan and I will remember, utter a silent prayer, and again feel very small and helpless. What can I do in the face of such loss?
I watch all these videos and read these articles, and I think you know, we could be next. We're not safe. If not a tsunami, a tornado. Oh yes they happen here. If not a tsunami, what's to say an earthquake won't hit near Augusta. Just because it hasn't happened doesn't mean it couldn't.
It reminds me just how small we really are. It makes me stop and wonder what it's all for, all this working our lives away to buy bigger and better homes, cars, technology. To one-up the Joneses. So that people will look up to us. Respect us. What is that prestige when we're all -- millionaires and paupers -- huddled together, shivering, soaking wet in an abandoned building somewhere, eating dried Ramen noodles to keep alive. Even if we could afford million dollar homes, they look the same as shanty shacks floating in the ocean.
I want to buy a house of my own one day. Why? For security, I always said. So that once it's paid for, nobody can ever come take away the roof over my head. But if I spend a quarter of my earnings over the course of my lifetime on it, will it last? Maybe for as long as I'm alive. Or maybe not. I'm starting to think these things aren't what we should be spending our money on. Yes, we need shelter. But does it have to be 4,500 square feet for just two people? Do we really need that much space? Do we really need to drive a gas-guzzling Hummer? Especially when people are hungry. What if we all aspired to modest housing, to spending the money God entrusts to us on just what we need and spending the rest to meet another's needs (those that can't do it for themselves.) And that would be needs... you know, food, clothing, shelter, water, air. Not cell phones, Lexuses and 52-inch big screens. (And since a lot of that stuff came from Japan, I'm betting they just got more luxurious.)
I don't know, ya'll. Right now I'm tired, which gets my thoughts churning, and every time I see something new come out of this disaster I'm just heartsick about the people there who are just fighting to stay alive. If I had millions, I would take jetfuls of food and clean water to them. I hate to see people go hungry. As it is, all I can do is find a charity to give a few dollars to and pray. I really hope that helps.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Dream a little dream
I've said it's a dream of mine to own a house. "Tis true. I think what I really need, though, is to become a turtle. I mean think about it! I'm never home, so I'm in an almost perpetual state of "I want to go home." But I can't stand to be home for extended periods of time or I get bored. And I hate yardwork. So it makes sense to have a home I can take with me.
Yep, what I need is an RV*. It makes perfect sense, if you think about it.
This way, after a big Walmart run, not only can I spare them the bags (can I just use your cart for a minute? I'll just put the groceries away right from the buggy. Just doing my part to be green. Thanks!), but I can sit down, kick off my shoes, sip some tea and chill for a minute before moving on to my next errand.
No, it won't be hard to resist the gazillion other things Walmart offers, so I won't spend tons there. Every purchase would be preceeded by one thought: "Where the heck am I going to put it?"
I can pick up an RV cheaper than a mobile home (which isn't even mobile! Go figure.) And then I need a nice half acre lot somewhere, preferably either on a hillside or on a lakeshore for maximum inspiration, to park whenever I feel like being "home." By that home, I mean the place where my roots are.
If you drop by to visit and the house is gone, it's pretty safe to assume I'm not home. And that I've come into some money to pay for gas.
I wouldn't need to pay an big electric bill. Surely even when I'm plugged in at home base, the electric bill couldn't be that high. I'd have satellite and a cell phone, of course. Anybody know how a septic tank might work for something like that? Get a well drilled and my overhead should be fairly miniscule. (As long as I'm stationary.)
This lack of need for materialistic things, as well as the low overhead, would also eliminate my need to climb the corporate ladder, see. As long as I earn enough to eat, I would be okay. If all goes well, I'll make that much as a writer, right? (Shh...I hear you my artist friends. Laughing is not nice. We must support each other. Thank you.)
Think about it, though. I mean, I could aspire to buy a $200,000 house that I can only use for about the next 50 years and that is too big for me to want to clean. Or I can spend that money (if, indeed, I actually earn that over the course of my lifetime), and use it to experience things. And write then about it so that other people can experience it vicariously.
I could pull this off! When I'm bored, (and when enough people buy my work for me to afford the gas) I could pick a spot on the map and just go. (I might even make it as far as Wrens!) And then write I could write about it, although there really isn't much inspirational in Wrens. Unless, of course, there is a tornado. Which is likely during 1 out of 2 springs.
If I meet a muse in my new locale, I could stay a while and write like mad til it leaves. Or I get bored, in which case I might have to get a job at McDonalds in order to make enough dough to go home. Or wherever I end up running out of gas.
I should probably wait until the kids are grown to live this crazy dream, though. They're still a little too fond of their video games. And stuff. And privacy. And friends. And I'd have to homeschool. (God bless those of you that can do it. I'm more likely to forget to adminsister a math test than they are to forget to do their homework.) Plus, I'm not sure they make an RV big enough to hold us all!
Can't you just see it, though? The kids will call from college:
Kid: "Hey, Mom. I want to come visit. Where are you? "
Me: "Juneau. It's beautful. And freezing. I'm wrapped in a Snuggie, staring at the snow. It's gorgeous here. I'm writing about a crazy woman who sells all of her possessions and travels the country in an RV, and then writes about the things she sees and the people she meets. In the end she writes this amazing bestselling novel, makes millions and buys a newer model. And her own gas station. In every state."
Kid: "She almost sounds like you. Hey, I want to come visit, but I can't afford the plane ticket. Can you spot me some?"
Me: "Sorry, hon, I'd love to but I can't. Hey Christmas is coming...in about six months. Could you tell the family I'd like gas cards in my stocking? Thanks, Hon! Love you! Gotta run. My shift starts in 5 minutes. "
*I said RV. Not a bus. This will run, have an intact interior, and living space will not be shared with any motorized vehicle. Thank you for your concern. ;)
Yep, what I need is an RV*. It makes perfect sense, if you think about it.
This way, after a big Walmart run, not only can I spare them the bags (can I just use your cart for a minute? I'll just put the groceries away right from the buggy. Just doing my part to be green. Thanks!), but I can sit down, kick off my shoes, sip some tea and chill for a minute before moving on to my next errand.
No, it won't be hard to resist the gazillion other things Walmart offers, so I won't spend tons there. Every purchase would be preceeded by one thought: "Where the heck am I going to put it?"
I can pick up an RV cheaper than a mobile home (which isn't even mobile! Go figure.) And then I need a nice half acre lot somewhere, preferably either on a hillside or on a lakeshore for maximum inspiration, to park whenever I feel like being "home." By that home, I mean the place where my roots are.
If you drop by to visit and the house is gone, it's pretty safe to assume I'm not home. And that I've come into some money to pay for gas.
I wouldn't need to pay an big electric bill. Surely even when I'm plugged in at home base, the electric bill couldn't be that high. I'd have satellite and a cell phone, of course. Anybody know how a septic tank might work for something like that? Get a well drilled and my overhead should be fairly miniscule. (As long as I'm stationary.)
This lack of need for materialistic things, as well as the low overhead, would also eliminate my need to climb the corporate ladder, see. As long as I earn enough to eat, I would be okay. If all goes well, I'll make that much as a writer, right? (Shh...I hear you my artist friends. Laughing is not nice. We must support each other. Thank you.)
Think about it, though. I mean, I could aspire to buy a $200,000 house that I can only use for about the next 50 years and that is too big for me to want to clean. Or I can spend that money (if, indeed, I actually earn that over the course of my lifetime), and use it to experience things. And write then about it so that other people can experience it vicariously.
I could pull this off! When I'm bored, (and when enough people buy my work for me to afford the gas) I could pick a spot on the map and just go. (I might even make it as far as Wrens!) And then write I could write about it, although there really isn't much inspirational in Wrens. Unless, of course, there is a tornado. Which is likely during 1 out of 2 springs.
If I meet a muse in my new locale, I could stay a while and write like mad til it leaves. Or I get bored, in which case I might have to get a job at McDonalds in order to make enough dough to go home. Or wherever I end up running out of gas.
I should probably wait until the kids are grown to live this crazy dream, though. They're still a little too fond of their video games. And stuff. And privacy. And friends. And I'd have to homeschool. (God bless those of you that can do it. I'm more likely to forget to adminsister a math test than they are to forget to do their homework.) Plus, I'm not sure they make an RV big enough to hold us all!
Can't you just see it, though? The kids will call from college:
Kid: "Hey, Mom. I want to come visit. Where are you? "
Me: "Juneau. It's beautful. And freezing. I'm wrapped in a Snuggie, staring at the snow. It's gorgeous here. I'm writing about a crazy woman who sells all of her possessions and travels the country in an RV, and then writes about the things she sees and the people she meets. In the end she writes this amazing bestselling novel, makes millions and buys a newer model. And her own gas station. In every state."
Kid: "She almost sounds like you. Hey, I want to come visit, but I can't afford the plane ticket. Can you spot me some?"
Me: "Sorry, hon, I'd love to but I can't. Hey Christmas is coming...in about six months. Could you tell the family I'd like gas cards in my stocking? Thanks, Hon! Love you! Gotta run. My shift starts in 5 minutes. "
*I said RV. Not a bus. This will run, have an intact interior, and living space will not be shared with any motorized vehicle. Thank you for your concern. ;)
Friday, March 11, 2011
Revisiting the past
I'm always amazed at how much growing I'm still doing since my divorce. I'm just now reaching a point where that life seems too far away to hurt me much anymore, and it's slipping further all the time. And I've only just realized I've reached a place where I'm no longer defined by him or my relationship to him. I no longer feel he is a reflection on me. This is huge. It leave just...me. Which is still (and always will be) a work in progress.
What brought that up, you ask? I had an interview in Aiken earlier this week. Near downtown. I don't know why, but whenever I'm up that way I always want to drive by the old house. It's a good 20 minutes, the opposite way from the direction I needed to be going, but I went anyway. (After the interview, of course)
This house I was driving to is not even the house we lived in when I left him four and a half years ago. That house is sitting on a seven-acre parcel of land behind a five-acre parcel in Beech Island. There's no "just" driving past it. I'm not even sure GPS could help you find it if you don't know where it is. I have no desire to revisit that house.
The house in Aiken, though, might actually be considered the last decent house we lived in together, and I liked it. (That's saying a lot, by the way. We lived in a lot of houses, and less than a handful can be considered decent. Some were barely even habitable.) It was very rural, but we weren't isolated. It was quiet, and had a deck all the way across the back that overlooked the woods.
I can't really say we were happy there. We (or I) hadn't been happy for most of the marriage. But life was peaceful. Or maybe I was just too busy to notice anything different. For the three years we lived there, I went to school, worked part time at the paper at night and worked for the school newspaper. I drove the 45 minutes to Augusta twice a day on the days I had class.
I have no sentimental attachment to the house. The current tenants have run it down a bit. There's junk everywhere, worse than when we had it. I felt nothing when I saw it. But driving through the neighborhood, taking the same route to and from the house, passing the same homes and familiar landmarks, it felt...nice. And distant. I remembered the promise and the hope for the future I felt back then.
See, all that work, the drive, the late nights and early mornings...was to build us a better life. It was to give us the kind of security that the kids and I have now. It was evident to me that he would never do it. I didn't go to college and try to get a better job so I could leave him...it was for all of us. But I did feel I needed to be able to take care of myself and the kids should the marriage fall apart. I had no idea when we closed that door for the last time, that less than a year later I would be on my own, and six months after that he would be gone.
I do wonder what it is I feel the need to visit when I drive that way. I truly have no idea. It's not that I miss him. I don't. It will take me many blog posts, the memoir I keep threatening to write, and probably then some to for me to feel like I can adequately convey to you how much better off the kids and I are now. It's not that I miss our life together. I don't. There is not one thing about it that I want back. And it's not that I miss who I was. I hated who I was married to him. I don't hate myself anymore. But I still find myself making that drive, all the way out of my way, to visit a relic of a past I would rather forget.
When I say life was peaceful there, I don't mean "peaceful" in the sense that it was a period of time when we weren't fighting. We didn't fight a lot. I'd given it up years ago when I figured it was just easier not to. So I think I just mean that we weren't struggling quite like we were before I started college. We had car insurance, a bank account, regular phone service, satellite TV...all the trappings of a "normal" life. Maybe that's it. This was the place we were finally "normal," because when we left it, nothing about our lives was even close to normal anymore. Until now.
That doesn't really make any sense, either, though, does it? Because that "normal" still involved late payments, little white lies, and other things that are blissfully absent from our current lives. I guess, no matter how many rabbit trails I chase, it makes no sense to want to revisit any relics of my past.
How about, it's a really pretty ride?
What brought that up, you ask? I had an interview in Aiken earlier this week. Near downtown. I don't know why, but whenever I'm up that way I always want to drive by the old house. It's a good 20 minutes, the opposite way from the direction I needed to be going, but I went anyway. (After the interview, of course)
This house I was driving to is not even the house we lived in when I left him four and a half years ago. That house is sitting on a seven-acre parcel of land behind a five-acre parcel in Beech Island. There's no "just" driving past it. I'm not even sure GPS could help you find it if you don't know where it is. I have no desire to revisit that house.
The house in Aiken, though, might actually be considered the last decent house we lived in together, and I liked it. (That's saying a lot, by the way. We lived in a lot of houses, and less than a handful can be considered decent. Some were barely even habitable.) It was very rural, but we weren't isolated. It was quiet, and had a deck all the way across the back that overlooked the woods.
I can't really say we were happy there. We (or I) hadn't been happy for most of the marriage. But life was peaceful. Or maybe I was just too busy to notice anything different. For the three years we lived there, I went to school, worked part time at the paper at night and worked for the school newspaper. I drove the 45 minutes to Augusta twice a day on the days I had class.
I have no sentimental attachment to the house. The current tenants have run it down a bit. There's junk everywhere, worse than when we had it. I felt nothing when I saw it. But driving through the neighborhood, taking the same route to and from the house, passing the same homes and familiar landmarks, it felt...nice. And distant. I remembered the promise and the hope for the future I felt back then.
See, all that work, the drive, the late nights and early mornings...was to build us a better life. It was to give us the kind of security that the kids and I have now. It was evident to me that he would never do it. I didn't go to college and try to get a better job so I could leave him...it was for all of us. But I did feel I needed to be able to take care of myself and the kids should the marriage fall apart. I had no idea when we closed that door for the last time, that less than a year later I would be on my own, and six months after that he would be gone.
I do wonder what it is I feel the need to visit when I drive that way. I truly have no idea. It's not that I miss him. I don't. It will take me many blog posts, the memoir I keep threatening to write, and probably then some to for me to feel like I can adequately convey to you how much better off the kids and I are now. It's not that I miss our life together. I don't. There is not one thing about it that I want back. And it's not that I miss who I was. I hated who I was married to him. I don't hate myself anymore. But I still find myself making that drive, all the way out of my way, to visit a relic of a past I would rather forget.
When I say life was peaceful there, I don't mean "peaceful" in the sense that it was a period of time when we weren't fighting. We didn't fight a lot. I'd given it up years ago when I figured it was just easier not to. So I think I just mean that we weren't struggling quite like we were before I started college. We had car insurance, a bank account, regular phone service, satellite TV...all the trappings of a "normal" life. Maybe that's it. This was the place we were finally "normal," because when we left it, nothing about our lives was even close to normal anymore. Until now.
That doesn't really make any sense, either, though, does it? Because that "normal" still involved late payments, little white lies, and other things that are blissfully absent from our current lives. I guess, no matter how many rabbit trails I chase, it makes no sense to want to revisit any relics of my past.
How about, it's a really pretty ride?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
JAX!
The generation gap: Us old people don't like pictures of ourselves. We see all our flaws. The young'uns? They love seeing graven images of themselves. And it doesn't matter how silly. Case in point:
The "Let's see if I can make my real face look like this caricature" photo...
Searching for jellyfish.... (and they totured a dead one. At least I hope it was dead. Do washed up jellyfish move???)
This was a really cool place. Performers, people eating outdoors, crazy bums dancing by themselves, sunset and yachts on the St. John's River....
We checked. It was plugged in. But I kept looking for Tom Hanks. (If you were born after 1990, nevermind...)
Yay for the technologically-challenged....for figuring out how to get the pics off my phone!
The "Let's see if I can make my real face look like this caricature" photo...
Me...I take pics of my feet. And my sis will fuss that my toenails aren't polished. But in my own defense, I was wearing boots and wasn't expecting to be at the beach!
(Catie: "Mom, you can write good with your hands and feet! That's not fair!" She lies. Apparently, we learned Saturday that I write best with my feet!)
I lied, too. I let other people take pics of me. (But I'll never tell what happens to them afterward... ;) )
This was a really cool place. Performers, people eating outdoors, crazy bums dancing by themselves, sunset and yachts on the St. John's River....
We checked. It was plugged in. But I kept looking for Tom Hanks. (If you were born after 1990, nevermind...)
GATOR TAIL! Okay...this child is the pickiest eater. A real meat 'n' taters kind of guy...who just spent who knows how long picking the chicken out of the pan of tonight's stir fry so he didn't have to eat vegetables. He not only willingly ate this, but he polished off the basket!! Us female types, we hesitantly ate one piece each (although I think Erin had two), so we can all say we ate alligator! You're proud of us. I know you are.
Yay for the technologically-challenged....for figuring out how to get the pics off my phone!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Talk is cheap, baseball is expensive
Be the change you want to see in the world. -- Mahatma Ghandi
I've never had a desire to be a soccer mom, shuttling kids from ballet to little league in my trusty minivan, sitting around twittering with other soccer moms about which detergent best removes pink bubble gum from chambray and "What the heck was Mary Jane thinking, dyeing her hair that awful shade of red, anyway? She looks like Elmo's grandma, for Pete's sake!"
But I'm so proud of my son now. He gave up going to a magnet school in part because he wanted to play sports. Last year he ran track. He came in nearly last on the team, but he stuck with it the whole season, even through the Saturday-7-a.m. practices his mama hated so much.This year he's playing baseball and loving it, though they've lost miserably every game but one. (Thank you, Lord, for the mercy rule. We have high hopes they'll play a full game soon.)
It's awfully hard to keep quiet in the stands, though. You can't help but overhear the parent talk. Before I get into that, let me give you a little background. Our team plays on a rec field because it's right beside the school. For whatever reason -- rumor has it the county doesn't want spend the money -- the lights aren't turned on. I don't think there is a scoreboard. If there is, it doesn't work either, because keeping score during a home game is next to impossible. (Note to self: make friends with the scrawny blonde teen with the sprial notebook.) There are no concessions and the bathrooms are chained shut.
Tonight they played an away game at a newer school on a lighted field with a working scoreboard. Even their uniforms were new and as one parent pointed out, their shoes all matched. The parent theorized that the school must have bought those, too. We had to buy our own kids' shoes.
When my son got his jersey, he ended up with an old tank-top version because he was JV, and the varisty team got first dibs. But he was so proud to get it. It doesn't matter to him that it's used. It just matters that he's on the team.
Tonight I overheard a group of our parents complaining about how we have to play in the without lights, which will shorten our home games. Complaining about how the scoreboard doesn't work. Complaining about how they can't get the hand-me-down mud stains out of the white pants. And then complaining about paying the $4 to get into this game. We don't charge for ours. We don't sell concessions. Is it fair that other teams have these things and we don't? No, but where do these parents think all that money comes from? (Oooh, dear Genie. Please work your magic! Better yet, cough it up, Mom. Theirs did.)
Truthfully, I guess I don't even know where the money comes from for the lights. Or how much it costs to run them. Or why the rec department won't turn them on. But I'm new here. I've been a baseball mom for about a month and I'm just now learning what problems we have. They've been at it since middle school. I heard them talking about how these kids were one of the best teams around back then. So this pitiful losing streak must be the school's fault for giving them inadequate equipment, right? (We can't be expected to work under these conditions!)
I wonder if these parents belong to the booster club. Does our school even have a booster club? The web site says it does, but honestly that's the only evidence I've seen that one exists.
I wonder what would happen if, instead of complaining, these parents actually organized a car wash or a yard sale or something? Even though we have pitifully few parents in the stands during home games, we could clear at least $100, I would guess, if we charged $4 a head. We could pad the fund a little more by selling Cokes and water from a cooler. The kids that come to see their friends and socialize would definitely buy that. Surely what we earned during home games would buy a jersey or two, or maybe wood to build a temporary scoreboard. Maybe even an hour or two of light to play by.
I wonder how much better our team would play if they felt like their community and their parents were behind them?
You can bet your behind I'll be a member of the booster club by the week's end.
I've never had a desire to be a soccer mom, shuttling kids from ballet to little league in my trusty minivan, sitting around twittering with other soccer moms about which detergent best removes pink bubble gum from chambray and "What the heck was Mary Jane thinking, dyeing her hair that awful shade of red, anyway? She looks like Elmo's grandma, for Pete's sake!"
But I'm so proud of my son now. He gave up going to a magnet school in part because he wanted to play sports. Last year he ran track. He came in nearly last on the team, but he stuck with it the whole season, even through the Saturday-7-a.m. practices his mama hated so much.This year he's playing baseball and loving it, though they've lost miserably every game but one. (Thank you, Lord, for the mercy rule. We have high hopes they'll play a full game soon.)
It's awfully hard to keep quiet in the stands, though. You can't help but overhear the parent talk. Before I get into that, let me give you a little background. Our team plays on a rec field because it's right beside the school. For whatever reason -- rumor has it the county doesn't want spend the money -- the lights aren't turned on. I don't think there is a scoreboard. If there is, it doesn't work either, because keeping score during a home game is next to impossible. (Note to self: make friends with the scrawny blonde teen with the sprial notebook.) There are no concessions and the bathrooms are chained shut.
Tonight they played an away game at a newer school on a lighted field with a working scoreboard. Even their uniforms were new and as one parent pointed out, their shoes all matched. The parent theorized that the school must have bought those, too. We had to buy our own kids' shoes.
When my son got his jersey, he ended up with an old tank-top version because he was JV, and the varisty team got first dibs. But he was so proud to get it. It doesn't matter to him that it's used. It just matters that he's on the team.
Tonight I overheard a group of our parents complaining about how we have to play in the without lights, which will shorten our home games. Complaining about how the scoreboard doesn't work. Complaining about how they can't get the hand-me-down mud stains out of the white pants. And then complaining about paying the $4 to get into this game. We don't charge for ours. We don't sell concessions. Is it fair that other teams have these things and we don't? No, but where do these parents think all that money comes from? (Oooh, dear Genie. Please work your magic! Better yet, cough it up, Mom. Theirs did.)
Truthfully, I guess I don't even know where the money comes from for the lights. Or how much it costs to run them. Or why the rec department won't turn them on. But I'm new here. I've been a baseball mom for about a month and I'm just now learning what problems we have. They've been at it since middle school. I heard them talking about how these kids were one of the best teams around back then. So this pitiful losing streak must be the school's fault for giving them inadequate equipment, right? (We can't be expected to work under these conditions!)
I wonder if these parents belong to the booster club. Does our school even have a booster club? The web site says it does, but honestly that's the only evidence I've seen that one exists.
I wonder what would happen if, instead of complaining, these parents actually organized a car wash or a yard sale or something? Even though we have pitifully few parents in the stands during home games, we could clear at least $100, I would guess, if we charged $4 a head. We could pad the fund a little more by selling Cokes and water from a cooler. The kids that come to see their friends and socialize would definitely buy that. Surely what we earned during home games would buy a jersey or two, or maybe wood to build a temporary scoreboard. Maybe even an hour or two of light to play by.
I wonder how much better our team would play if they felt like their community and their parents were behind them?
You can bet your behind I'll be a member of the booster club by the week's end.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Ah...home!
5 hours + 2 teenagers + 1 car = 1 mom who's glad to be home!
Two days ago, I thought I'd bought too much food. How silly of me. I forgot I have teenagers. Too much food around teenagers is an oxymoron. There's just no such thing!
Quick quotes from our weekend trip (because my pjs and a cup of tea are calling...loudly)*:
Teen: "Sit up. Mom! Tell him/her to sit up. I'm trying to lay down!"
Me, sitting in the backseat, singing along to the Jason Aldean song blaring from teenager's ear, who is sitting in the front seat. Teen, removing an earphone: "What? Did you say something?"
Me: "Nope. Turn it up a little louder. You might have some hearing left."
"Are we there yet?" YES, this was actually uttered. At least she waited until we were within an hour of our destination.
My brother and his wife are showing us around their fair new city. Teen: "Where are we going?" Me: "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."
Teen: "Okay, but are we going to the restaurant now?"
Me: "I don't know where we are going. Just sit back and enjoy the ride!"
Teen: "I am. I just want to know where we are going. How long will it take us to get to the restaurant?"
Teen: "No, I'm sitting in the front seat, so I get to control the radio! You made that rule, Mom!"
Teen: "He/she won't quit touching me!" (Don't we outgrow this at some point? Please??)
Teen, in the car: "Mom! Tell him/her to stop singing! I'm trying to sleep!"
Teens, and mom, practicaly in unison: "I'm really glad to be home!"
*Disclaimer: While some of my quotes are genuine, my best responses came hours after the my kids' utterances, accompanied by "Dang it, why can't I think of this stuff quicker?"
Two days ago, I thought I'd bought too much food. How silly of me. I forgot I have teenagers. Too much food around teenagers is an oxymoron. There's just no such thing!
Quick quotes from our weekend trip (because my pjs and a cup of tea are calling...loudly)*:
Teen: "Sit up. Mom! Tell him/her to sit up. I'm trying to lay down!"
Me, sitting in the backseat, singing along to the Jason Aldean song blaring from teenager's ear, who is sitting in the front seat. Teen, removing an earphone: "What? Did you say something?"
Me: "Nope. Turn it up a little louder. You might have some hearing left."
"Are we there yet?" YES, this was actually uttered. At least she waited until we were within an hour of our destination.
My brother and his wife are showing us around their fair new city. Teen: "Where are we going?" Me: "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."
Teen: "Okay, but are we going to the restaurant now?"
Me: "I don't know where we are going. Just sit back and enjoy the ride!"
Teen: "I am. I just want to know where we are going. How long will it take us to get to the restaurant?"
Teen: "No, I'm sitting in the front seat, so I get to control the radio! You made that rule, Mom!"
Teen: "He/she won't quit touching me!" (Don't we outgrow this at some point? Please??)
Teen, in the car: "Mom! Tell him/her to stop singing! I'm trying to sleep!"
Teens, and mom, practicaly in unison: "I'm really glad to be home!"
*Disclaimer: While some of my quotes are genuine, my best responses came hours after the my kids' utterances, accompanied by "Dang it, why can't I think of this stuff quicker?"
Friday, March 4, 2011
Car food
What is it about trips that make you afraid you're going to be hungry? Like there aren't grocery stores, fast food joints and convience stores all along the way. We'll be gone two days. That's 48 hours...ish.
Vince and Erin used to live in Charlotte, a two-hour drive. By myself, I could take a water bottle and candy bar and be fine. With the kids, I think it was sodas and a bag of cookies. This time, it's a five-hour trip and I'm packing like we're spending six weeks in the Sahara! A 12-pack of bottled water, two boxes of Crystal Light singles, two 6-packs of sodas, chips, cookies of various assortments, crackers, sandwich stuff, bananas. Truthfully, we will be traveling through dinnertime, so I planned for us to eat sandwiches on the road. My reasoning is if we don't stop at Mickey D's tonight, we can have a nice dinner tomorrow night in Jacksonville, if that's what we all decide to do. But I could be going a bit overboard. We could have had a nice dinner for what I spent on traveling snacks!
Okay, I can rationalize this. We are probably not going to eat half of it, so next week the kids are going to have some bang up after school snacks. And I...am going on a diet.
Vince and Erin used to live in Charlotte, a two-hour drive. By myself, I could take a water bottle and candy bar and be fine. With the kids, I think it was sodas and a bag of cookies. This time, it's a five-hour trip and I'm packing like we're spending six weeks in the Sahara! A 12-pack of bottled water, two boxes of Crystal Light singles, two 6-packs of sodas, chips, cookies of various assortments, crackers, sandwich stuff, bananas. Truthfully, we will be traveling through dinnertime, so I planned for us to eat sandwiches on the road. My reasoning is if we don't stop at Mickey D's tonight, we can have a nice dinner tomorrow night in Jacksonville, if that's what we all decide to do. But I could be going a bit overboard. We could have had a nice dinner for what I spent on traveling snacks!
Okay, I can rationalize this. We are probably not going to eat half of it, so next week the kids are going to have some bang up after school snacks. And I...am going on a diet.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Faded memories
Tomorrow we're going to Jacksonville to visit my brother and his wife. I'm really looking forward to it. This will be the second time I've been to Florida. Jacksonville, to be exact. I don't remember much about the first time. It was my honeymoon.
Yeah, I see you cocking your eyebrow with that knowing look in your eye. You are sooo wrong! Here's the story:
We didn't have a honeymoon planned. He had just started a new job and wasn't able to take off longer than the weekend. And truthfully, we didn't have the money to go much of anywhere. So we decided to go to Savannah overnight, just so we could say we did something. I think it was my mom who said, " As long as you do something to make it special." (Not much about the wedding was, but that's another blog post.) Inspired, he just kept driving once we hit I-95, heading toward Florida because I'd never been there before.
Oh my gosh, you should have seen the car we drove, too! It was a Monza. I don't remember the year. I think we paid $100 for it. It was blue and red, because he was awfully fond of the spray paint. That poor car sported a number of color schemes. When it breathed its last, it was a tribute to Dale Earnhart, the black Number 3. You didn't even have to mash the clutch to shift gears. It didn't have heat, and was so drafty he drove to work with a blanket on his lap to stay warm. Later I learned how to pop a clutch when the starter went out on it, and we drove it that way for months. And the door was held closed with a bungee cord. This was our only car for over a year!
Anyway, that night driving to Jacksonville in this bucket of bolts I remember us laughing about how it was 11 p.m., one hour before my curfew and getting farther from home by the minute. (I was 20 and still living at home until that night.) I think we stayed in a hotel by the airport. When we woke up, we called my parents just to say, "You'll never guess where we are!"
I'm pretty sure they were horrified we drove the car that far.
I also remember going to the flea market. It was December, and I packed for cold Augusta weather. It was like 85 in Jacksonville. I had only brought sweatshirts and sweaters and was utterly miserable. Did I mention I was five months pregnant? There is nothing more miserable than a hot pregnant lady, let me tell you. I don't recall seeing much at the flea market, because I kept having to sit down and rest. I wanted him to buy me a T-shirt, but he said we didn't have enough money. I think he did buy me something cool to drink. And that's all I remember. I don't even remember the ride home.
Ah, but that was another life. This time, I'm really looking forward to the ride. (I'll be driving a Camry, and it is one color, factory painted, and in very good shape!) My brother and his wife bought an adorable house, judging from the pictures they've sent. I'm really looking forward to spending some time with them and seeing more of their new town. I hear it's really pretty. This time I will remember it all.
Yeah, I see you cocking your eyebrow with that knowing look in your eye. You are sooo wrong! Here's the story:
We didn't have a honeymoon planned. He had just started a new job and wasn't able to take off longer than the weekend. And truthfully, we didn't have the money to go much of anywhere. So we decided to go to Savannah overnight, just so we could say we did something. I think it was my mom who said, " As long as you do something to make it special." (Not much about the wedding was, but that's another blog post.) Inspired, he just kept driving once we hit I-95, heading toward Florida because I'd never been there before.
Oh my gosh, you should have seen the car we drove, too! It was a Monza. I don't remember the year. I think we paid $100 for it. It was blue and red, because he was awfully fond of the spray paint. That poor car sported a number of color schemes. When it breathed its last, it was a tribute to Dale Earnhart, the black Number 3. You didn't even have to mash the clutch to shift gears. It didn't have heat, and was so drafty he drove to work with a blanket on his lap to stay warm. Later I learned how to pop a clutch when the starter went out on it, and we drove it that way for months. And the door was held closed with a bungee cord. This was our only car for over a year!
Anyway, that night driving to Jacksonville in this bucket of bolts I remember us laughing about how it was 11 p.m., one hour before my curfew and getting farther from home by the minute. (I was 20 and still living at home until that night.) I think we stayed in a hotel by the airport. When we woke up, we called my parents just to say, "You'll never guess where we are!"
I'm pretty sure they were horrified we drove the car that far.
I also remember going to the flea market. It was December, and I packed for cold Augusta weather. It was like 85 in Jacksonville. I had only brought sweatshirts and sweaters and was utterly miserable. Did I mention I was five months pregnant? There is nothing more miserable than a hot pregnant lady, let me tell you. I don't recall seeing much at the flea market, because I kept having to sit down and rest. I wanted him to buy me a T-shirt, but he said we didn't have enough money. I think he did buy me something cool to drink. And that's all I remember. I don't even remember the ride home.
Ah, but that was another life. This time, I'm really looking forward to the ride. (I'll be driving a Camry, and it is one color, factory painted, and in very good shape!) My brother and his wife bought an adorable house, judging from the pictures they've sent. I'm really looking forward to spending some time with them and seeing more of their new town. I hear it's really pretty. This time I will remember it all.
Daydreams
So it's Thursday. I've declared today an "I'm not leaving the house" day. Riiiight. I have so much running around to do tomorrow in preparation for my weekend trip that I may run a couple of quick errands today, like washing the car and running to the grocery store. Things I can do on this side of town without having to even bother with makeup. Of course, that would require me actually getting dressed. It's only 10:40 a.m. I just haven't made it that far!
So it's Thursday, and the way I see it, my week's almost over. I've been so busy this week and had days where I haven't even been home. I really figured I'd be bored out of my skull and itching to go back to work by now. I figured there would have been too much quality time with my Kindle and my back porch. I haven't made it there yet! What have I been doing? Oh. Lunches, coffee and dinners with friends and family. Shopping. (But we still have to do some clothes shopping for the kids.) Showing my car some love, so it doesn't leave me stranded. (I think it likes me a lot better now.) Things that needed to be taken care of that I usually can't squeeze into my day.
So I'm dusting my living room and reflecting on the week, how little of it is left, and the fact that the rest is going to be awesome but busy. And I'm thinking of my blog, and how much fun I'm having with it. It's so neat to be just going about the business of cleaning or whatever, have a thought or an idea, sit down to flesh it out, share it, and then go back to whatever I was doing. So I've decided: This is what I want my life to be. Writing, with time to take care of everything else. I spoke to a best-selling author once who grabs a big water bottle every morning, shuts the door to her office and writes from 10 a.m.-4 p.m. every day. I could get so much more done with those hours, especially when you eliminate driving time to the office. Now, how do I get there from here? LOL (Winning the lotto requires actually playing it, right? Darn!)
Okay. Musing over. Back to chasing dustbunnies. (They're evasive little buggers!) I'm really going to have to get dressed sometime today, but it will never happen sitting at the computer!
So it's Thursday, and the way I see it, my week's almost over. I've been so busy this week and had days where I haven't even been home. I really figured I'd be bored out of my skull and itching to go back to work by now. I figured there would have been too much quality time with my Kindle and my back porch. I haven't made it there yet! What have I been doing? Oh. Lunches, coffee and dinners with friends and family. Shopping. (But we still have to do some clothes shopping for the kids.) Showing my car some love, so it doesn't leave me stranded. (I think it likes me a lot better now.) Things that needed to be taken care of that I usually can't squeeze into my day.
So I'm dusting my living room and reflecting on the week, how little of it is left, and the fact that the rest is going to be awesome but busy. And I'm thinking of my blog, and how much fun I'm having with it. It's so neat to be just going about the business of cleaning or whatever, have a thought or an idea, sit down to flesh it out, share it, and then go back to whatever I was doing. So I've decided: This is what I want my life to be. Writing, with time to take care of everything else. I spoke to a best-selling author once who grabs a big water bottle every morning, shuts the door to her office and writes from 10 a.m.-4 p.m. every day. I could get so much more done with those hours, especially when you eliminate driving time to the office. Now, how do I get there from here? LOL (Winning the lotto requires actually playing it, right? Darn!)
Okay. Musing over. Back to chasing dustbunnies. (They're evasive little buggers!) I'm really going to have to get dressed sometime today, but it will never happen sitting at the computer!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Trash and treasure
Yesterday's post about Tupperware got me to thinking. My kids are going to be so rich one day. When I'm dead and gone, they will be finding all sorts of treasures in the attic and in my closets. I don't know, though. The windfall could just add up to 23 cents. Don't spend it all in one place!
Yes, I'm a packrat. Worse, I have a sentimental attachment to stuff. You're not going to see me on an upcoming episode of Hoarders...I do value my floor space more than, say, the two TVs currently taking up a chunk of it in my bedroom. But if a thing has any inkling of sentimental value, it's mine and I will make it work.
Take for instance my living room furniture. This stuff is more than 20 years old. Every bit of it. It was all handed down, some before my divorce and some to help me furnish my own place afterward.
My couches belonged to an aunt. I think she bought them new in the '80s. Obviously she took good care of them. My coffee and end tables were my Nanny's. My sister, my cousins and I used to spend hours poring over the photo albums Nanny kept in them. We didn't know half the relatives we saw, but we loved looking at pictures of our parents when they were young, and baby pictures of ourselves. The table tops have warped a little over the years from sweating cups, and I've been debating about painting them. Whenever I'm at other people's houses, I often admire their newer coffee tables. But I just love mine.
I have other stuff, too. An entertainment center my mom and stepdad bought almost 30 years ago. A dinette set from my dad and stepmom, bought when I was 15. A desk that belonged to my stepmom's father. I have no idea how old it is, but judging from the hardware, I'm going with mid-'70s. Maybe even '60s. Vintage stuff, no?
I can't quite decide if all of this makes my place look dated, so I keep threatening to buy slipcovers and paint the furniture. I haven't yet been able to make myself shell out the couple hundred dollars for the slipcovers I really want (and I waffle on the color), and I'm a little afraid of tackling the painting. Will it ruin it? Will those tables still seem like Nanny's tables? Right now, I look around at my old stuff and see love and family. It's comforting.
Anyway, not only am I a sentimental fool, but I am a child of the '80s and proud of it. I wanted so bad to go to a John Hughes high school (I was in elementary school until '89) and be Molly Ringwald. So I jumped when my brother-in-law offered me his old Atari. Still works. He threw in the Sega, too. I'm ecstatic to be the proud owner of such a treasure. I even have PacMan, Freeway, Donkey Kong, E.T. and Asteroids and Sonic the Hedgehog! Other people, though, are somewhat unimpressed. I always expect a "Cool! Can I come over and play it?" Yeah...nobody does that. They haven't since the '80s. And that was me, because I didn't own an Atari. One day it will be cool again. I have faith. For now, it collects dust in a drawer.
I dunno. Maybe I will be on Hoarders one day. I think this is the very attitude they try to break!
Yes, I'm a packrat. Worse, I have a sentimental attachment to stuff. You're not going to see me on an upcoming episode of Hoarders...I do value my floor space more than, say, the two TVs currently taking up a chunk of it in my bedroom. But if a thing has any inkling of sentimental value, it's mine and I will make it work.
Take for instance my living room furniture. This stuff is more than 20 years old. Every bit of it. It was all handed down, some before my divorce and some to help me furnish my own place afterward.
My couches belonged to an aunt. I think she bought them new in the '80s. Obviously she took good care of them. My coffee and end tables were my Nanny's. My sister, my cousins and I used to spend hours poring over the photo albums Nanny kept in them. We didn't know half the relatives we saw, but we loved looking at pictures of our parents when they were young, and baby pictures of ourselves. The table tops have warped a little over the years from sweating cups, and I've been debating about painting them. Whenever I'm at other people's houses, I often admire their newer coffee tables. But I just love mine.
I have other stuff, too. An entertainment center my mom and stepdad bought almost 30 years ago. A dinette set from my dad and stepmom, bought when I was 15. A desk that belonged to my stepmom's father. I have no idea how old it is, but judging from the hardware, I'm going with mid-'70s. Maybe even '60s. Vintage stuff, no?
I can't quite decide if all of this makes my place look dated, so I keep threatening to buy slipcovers and paint the furniture. I haven't yet been able to make myself shell out the couple hundred dollars for the slipcovers I really want (and I waffle on the color), and I'm a little afraid of tackling the painting. Will it ruin it? Will those tables still seem like Nanny's tables? Right now, I look around at my old stuff and see love and family. It's comforting.
Anyway, not only am I a sentimental fool, but I am a child of the '80s and proud of it. I wanted so bad to go to a John Hughes high school (I was in elementary school until '89) and be Molly Ringwald. So I jumped when my brother-in-law offered me his old Atari. Still works. He threw in the Sega, too. I'm ecstatic to be the proud owner of such a treasure. I even have PacMan, Freeway, Donkey Kong, E.T. and Asteroids and Sonic the Hedgehog! Other people, though, are somewhat unimpressed. I always expect a "Cool! Can I come over and play it?" Yeah...nobody does that. They haven't since the '80s. And that was me, because I didn't own an Atari. One day it will be cool again. I have faith. For now, it collects dust in a drawer.
I dunno. Maybe I will be on Hoarders one day. I think this is the very attitude they try to break!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Thank you, Glad person, whoever you are!
Ah...vacation. I finally have time to do the things that never seem to get done. Like cleaning out the fridge. I think that ranks one notch below cleaning toilets on my least favorite chore list, but my poor bowls are begging to be rescued.
I'm in the middle of it right now...eggs, milk, and various containers filled with the ghosts of dinners past are stacked up on the counter, but I had to share this quick thought: I know why nobody buys Tupperware anymore. Believe it or not I have two small bowls, one in 1960s orange and one in avacado green. The green one has cabbage and potatoes in it. I know, because I just put there Sunday, on top of a clear Gladware one filled with the other half of the leftovers. Perfect for lunches, I reasoned. It sounds better than "I don't have a storage container large enough for both." Probably because they're all in the fridge, along with the rest of my good glass bowls. I know full well in two weeks it will still be there, I won't remember what's in it and I'll be too afraid to look.
Which is what just happened with the orange one. I popped open the top and vegetable soup splashed onto my foot. Ew! When was the last time we had vegetable soup? Should I take another shower now?
And then came my Aha moment: Somebody at Gladware had the same experience, decided the spare the rest of human race the trauma, and made clear plastic containers. This way, we aren't forced to open it and gag on the contents. We can see the fuzz without having to smell it, and then decide if we want to tackle the beast or just toss it. It's ingenious, actually, because now it comes down to how much we're willing to pay to walk away from the battle. We're standing at our kitchen counters thinking, "Hmmm. Do I want to open and dump this fuzzy spaghetti sauce that I know is going to make me want to hurl and will stink up my kitchen, or would I rather toss it and pay $5 for a new set of containers. Duh. Toss! I'll pay the 5 bucks!"
Okay. That's my thought for the moment. I have weeks-old leftovers warming on my counter that need to be dealt with, and we all they become a different kind of monster as their temperatures rise.
I'm in the middle of it right now...eggs, milk, and various containers filled with the ghosts of dinners past are stacked up on the counter, but I had to share this quick thought: I know why nobody buys Tupperware anymore. Believe it or not I have two small bowls, one in 1960s orange and one in avacado green. The green one has cabbage and potatoes in it. I know, because I just put there Sunday, on top of a clear Gladware one filled with the other half of the leftovers. Perfect for lunches, I reasoned. It sounds better than "I don't have a storage container large enough for both." Probably because they're all in the fridge, along with the rest of my good glass bowls. I know full well in two weeks it will still be there, I won't remember what's in it and I'll be too afraid to look.
Which is what just happened with the orange one. I popped open the top and vegetable soup splashed onto my foot. Ew! When was the last time we had vegetable soup? Should I take another shower now?
And then came my Aha moment: Somebody at Gladware had the same experience, decided the spare the rest of human race the trauma, and made clear plastic containers. This way, we aren't forced to open it and gag on the contents. We can see the fuzz without having to smell it, and then decide if we want to tackle the beast or just toss it. It's ingenious, actually, because now it comes down to how much we're willing to pay to walk away from the battle. We're standing at our kitchen counters thinking, "Hmmm. Do I want to open and dump this fuzzy spaghetti sauce that I know is going to make me want to hurl and will stink up my kitchen, or would I rather toss it and pay $5 for a new set of containers. Duh. Toss! I'll pay the 5 bucks!"
Okay. That's my thought for the moment. I have weeks-old leftovers warming on my counter that need to be dealt with, and we all they become a different kind of monster as their temperatures rise.
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