The scene opens on a balmy Tuesday morning at 5:15am. The Woman struggles to shut of the blaring alarm at her head, inching slowly off the bed, headed for the coffee pot. Never mind that it's her day off, and it's been nine hundred days since she slept in. No, never you mind that. The woman lays her head down on the kitchen counter and waits, watching her only heart's desire pour into the cup beneath the Keurig machine. She closes her eyes, briefly, until the sound of dripping is done. She adds her cream and sugar and takes her first sip. It's amazing.
Heading to the bathroom, she glances at herself in the mirror and realizes that she has hardened shredded cheese stuck to her cheek, because she lay her head on a counter that she forgot to wipe down before she went to bed very, very late last night. It's alright. Don't worry. She has her coffee. She sighs, deeply. It looks as though someone neglected to replace the roll of toilet paper again. It's alright. She'll take care of it.
The woman dresses herself. Sports bra, shorts, tank top, flip flops. She pulls her hair back into a pony tail and heads for the truck. Once outside, she realizes that it is 87 degrees with 70% humidity, and her hair does this funky curly-only-at-the-sides of her head thing that makes it kind of look like she is possibly growing wings above her ears. The good (?) news is, this is as cool as it's going to be all day. The bad news is, her family has been rocking the One Vehicle With No Air Conditioning venue since this time last summer. It's all good. Her husband bought her one of those Spray/Fan combo things. She's covered. (In sweat. At 5:30am)
The woman drops her husband off at work and heads back home, hoping against hope that she will have a chance to shower when she gets there. And, also, to refill her coffee cup. She is about ten miles from her house when the first cup of coffee decides it's done it's job for the day and fills her bladder almost to bursting. Ten miles. So close, and yet.......there's a tractor, slowly making his way through morning traffic.....finally able to pass him, she turns at the blinking yellow light and low and behold! What do we have here?! A train, stopped across the tracks. Two LONG miles from this woman's driveway. She does a careful, three point turn to make her way back to the busy highway, drives another mile down and narrowly escapes being smashed to little, tiny pieces by a semi-truck. Finally, blessedly, she is home.
Waiting at home for her are her four children two Grandpeeps, and her doggie. She thinks they will still be asleep. She is wrong. GrandBoy #1 comes around the corner, sleepily rubbing his eyes, and asks for breakfast. Daughter #3 comes down the stairs and smiles and hugs her mother and begins to question the plans for the day, specifically whether or not said daughter will be going to the pool. Daughter #3 thinks that maybe her sweet Mommy didn't hear her the first seventy-nine times she asked, so she continues to ask about the pool while GrandBoy #1 continues to ask for breakfast. The woman just watches the coffee hit the bottom of the cup and says goodbye to all of her showering dreams. She takes her first sip when GrandGirl joins the party. GrandGirl has urgent diapering needs. GrandBoy decides to try to locate a specific Matchbox car in a large bucket FULL of Matchbox cars by emptying the bucket into the middle of the living room floor. Daughter #2 makes an entrance, drops to the middle of the dining room floor and stretches out in a Zombie-esqe fashion, thus ensuring that GrandBoy #1 and GrandGirl will be asking several thousand questions about WHY this is happening. Doggie now has urgent bathroom needs that will wait for no Zombie, Daughter or Grandperson. The woman takes him to the yard, careful not to let him down to run around Zombie Daughter or the GrandPeeps, because Doggie has a social anxiety disorder which causes him to be unable to EVER sit still or stop licking the faces, noses or ears of the GrandPeeps, which makes the GrandPeeps VERY unhappy, indeed.
Outside, Doggie greets his Yard Cat friends (there are 5), relieves himself on the tire of the woman's truck, spots a bird off in the distance, and pretends that he has a shot in hell at catching the bird and takes off. The woman takes a deep breath and decides that, yes, despite his tendency to get on a lot of nerves, the family would, in fact, miss him greatly. She follows after him, barely able to see his tiny rear end disappear into the bean field. She tracks him down to the fifth row of beans, where he is laying claim to seventeen plants for his ever-growing empire. The woman whistles, threatens, cajoles, and begs her Doggie to come with her back to the house, where even at half an acre away, she can still hear the GrandPeeps asking for breakfast. The Doggie eventually decides to follow her back, stopping at every 10th blade of grass along the way, making a valiant effort to remind the other animals in the kingdom that Doggie's Empire is vast and well-tended. They are halfway back to the house when an insect that the woman is pretty sure is a first cousin to Mothra lands on the back of the woman's leg and bites/stings her. Doggie misinterprets the woman's simultaneous leg slap/arm wave/terrified screech as an "I Really Want To Play And Chase You Around The Yard Dance" and behaves accordingly. The woman has no time to mourn the loss of muscle control in her lower extremity, she has to act fast and grab a hold of the Doggie before he makes his way into the next county.
Back at the house, the woman examines the bite/sting on the back of her leg and can find no evidence of the bug bite whatsoever, ensuring that NO ONE, ever, anywhere, will believe what she just experienced. She hangs her head.
She feeds the GrandPeeps and Daughter #3, dresses the GrandPeeps, redresses herself, packs diapers, wipes, her purse, her phone and Daughter #3 and heads back outside into the humidity. GrandGirl goes into her car seat. GrandBoy #1 goes into his car seat. Daughter #3 (still asking about pool plans) goes into the passenger seat. Daughter #2 was supposed to have been coming along, but has since made her way back to her bed. (Hopefully. Possibly she only made it as far as the floor next to her bed. The woman forgot to check.) They drive, with no air conditioning, down the highway to the woman's Mother's house. During the journey, the GrandPeeps ask twenty-seven million times where the group is heading and why they are heading there. The woman stops answering. Daughter #3 is not as jaded as the woman, and therefore, continues to give the same answers to the same questions at the top of her lungs to the GrandPeeps, making the woman think that Daughter #3 should possibly have her head examined before starting fourth grade this year.
Upon arriving at their destination, the Woman must now engage in a battle of arms, legs, and car seat buckles to unload everyone and get them to the door. The woman's Mother answers the door in her pajamas. This is especially strange to the woman, because it is now nearly 8:30am, and the woman's Mother has a long history of preaching the benefits of early rising to the woman. The woman makes herself a cup of her Mother's coffee. The two of them take GrandPeeps and Daughter #3 outside to play, because Mother's yard is shady and it's only Almost Unbearable. While playing in the yard, a bug makes it's way into the woman's coffee and drowns. GrandBoy #1 finds this hysterical. The woman, less so. At 9:45am, they all head inside for a drink and to enjoy some good, old-fashioned air conditioning. The woman's Mother tells Daughter #3 and the GrandPeeps that there are cookies in the cookie jar, which is sitting on the counter. The woman tries to say No Thank You to her Mother, on behalf of the group, however, the Mother won't take no for an answer and insists on feeding cookies to the GrandPeeps before 10am. A move which assures the woman that her Mother is no longer the woman who raised her. In the woman's experience, her Mother believed that snacks containing sugar should be consumed by children between 2pm and 2:01pm.
The woman, once again, engages in Epic Car Seat Battles to place the GrandPeeps into the truck to leave, though it is made slightly more difficult by the sugar-induced spasms the GrandPeeps are now experiencing. The woman now realizes that she needs to put gas in the truck. She stops at a gas station, and because she is educated, and it is hot outside, she removes GrandPeeps from the car seats, takes them inside to pay for the gas, ends up buying half of the gas station, takes them back outside, returns them to the car seats, and heads for home. All the while, Daughter #3 has not stopped asking about what time the pool opens and when they will be going and who will be going with her. The woman is drenched in sweat and feels as though she may need to pull over to vomit before reaching her driveway. The GrandPeeps are in danger of falling into a sugar-induced coma in the backseat. They make it safely inside the blessedly cool house. Daughter #2 is fully awake and functional. Also, Son has now joined the land of the living. His first question to the woman is whether he will be able to go to the pool as previously planned.
The woman makes lunch while washing dishes and scraping hardened cheese off the counters. While Daughter #2, Son, Daughter #3, and the GrandPeeps eat, she folds a load of laundry. She finds that the Universe has rewarded her for doing the laundry of people who are perfectly capable of doing their own laundry by leaving $7 in her dryer. She is appropriately thankful. She shares the message on Facebook. While updating her status, GrandBoy #1 enters the room and informs her that, "Fun time is OVER." The woman laughs at him, and is promptly sent to time out. The fifteen seconds of 'time out' is blissful for the woman. It is exactly what she needed. Fifteen seconds to reflect on her life as a parent, grandparent, wife, daughter, maid, chauffeur, the list is endless. The woman is then informed that GrandGirl has another urgent diaper issue that requires immediate attention.
The woman tracks down Son, who has retreated to his video game paradise, and Daughter #3, loads them up and takes them to the pool, handing them her hard-earned $7 Laundry Lottery Winnings for snacks. Daughter #2 is left in charge of GrandPeeps. When she returns, the woman finds that Daughter #2 is asleep on the couch, as is GrandBoy #1. GrandGirl looks to be nearly dormant. The woman silently celebrates. She does not know what to do with this windfall. Shower? Nap? She decides to type up a quick blog entry.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Dream Apartment
There's a first floor apartment in a long gray building that stretches on, seemingly for miles. The walk way up to the front door is lined with the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen, bold and bright, a dizzying array of colors so perfect, it hurts my eyes to look at them. I reach the front door, always, always, searching for the correct key to put in the lock. In wrought iron, off to the left of the red door, in a scrolling print, it says 'Unit 9'. When I finally find the correct key, I open the door to a beautifully decorated apartment that smells like clean laundry and feels a lot like home. The emotions are always the same, its a welcoming, coupled with guilt that I haven't been here for so long, and a need to hurry and get back out again.
I am always searching for something. Sometimes an item of clothing, sometimes an errant car seat, once, a framed picture of my mother and father. Though, I've never had any idea of what item I am looking for until I happen across it.
There's a vibrant, extra long, indigo colored couch along one wall, and every time I visit this place, I have a need to stretch out upon it and take in my surroundings, but I fight against it and have never even sat upon that glorious piece of furniture. It's usually at this point that I have an impending sense of urgency, and I rush off past a wall of shelves that contain a truly staggering number of books and pictures and, oddly, a jewelry box that is ALWAYS open, the ballerina forever dancing to some tune that I don't recognize.
I take a right, past the shelves and enter the bathroom, it's spacious, and it's the only room in this place that the decor ever changes from visit to visit. I always move the shower curtain to the side, checking for something behind it, but I have never seen anything there.
Exiting the bathroom, I move to the right, once again, and suddenly am surrounded by every shade of purple I've ever seen. There's a bed, and a beautiful, gleaming, eight drawer dresser, but I have never made any effort of move towards them, I head straight for the closet door in front of me. When I open it, I leave the neat and orderly behind me, and move into chaos. Things are strewn about, piled and tossed carelessly around. It's mayhem. I know, with whatever powers I possess, that whatever I am looking for is in this place. It's huge. Bigger than all of the other rooms in the apartment, combined. I'm not scared. I'm resigned, and I always take a deep breath and feel overwhelmed but determined and I start my search.
While I don't have a concept of what it is that I am pursuing, I know that I will find it, that I will move a box, dig into a pile of discarded clothing, push aside a chair or an empty shelf and, there it will be, waiting to be plucked out of oblivion. I have such a feeling of elation when I finally find it. Then a moment passes, and I'm stuck with an almost crippling sadness because possessing this item means that I have to leave this place. I have a desperate need to turn to someone for comfort, but I am always alone here. If I've come with anyone, I've long since left them behind. I pull myself to my feet and dry my tears and take a long look around at the disorder that surrounds me on every side, and I turn and walk back to the door, but I always stop and follow the wall to the right. There's a staircase hidden in the corner. Whatever lies at the bottom of those stairs has never managed to lure me to attempt descend them. I stand at the top, staring down at darkness, and it seems like a lifetime passes. Then, I simply turn back, back through the purple room, polished and pretty, back into the living room and always, I take a second look at that magnificent indigo couch and promise myself, "Next time", and I leave with a click of the lock to whatever waits on the outside.
This place, this dream, it's my sanctuary. It's a gift to visit, but I never, ever, not once, look back on my way out the door.
I am always searching for something. Sometimes an item of clothing, sometimes an errant car seat, once, a framed picture of my mother and father. Though, I've never had any idea of what item I am looking for until I happen across it.
There's a vibrant, extra long, indigo colored couch along one wall, and every time I visit this place, I have a need to stretch out upon it and take in my surroundings, but I fight against it and have never even sat upon that glorious piece of furniture. It's usually at this point that I have an impending sense of urgency, and I rush off past a wall of shelves that contain a truly staggering number of books and pictures and, oddly, a jewelry box that is ALWAYS open, the ballerina forever dancing to some tune that I don't recognize.
I take a right, past the shelves and enter the bathroom, it's spacious, and it's the only room in this place that the decor ever changes from visit to visit. I always move the shower curtain to the side, checking for something behind it, but I have never seen anything there.
Exiting the bathroom, I move to the right, once again, and suddenly am surrounded by every shade of purple I've ever seen. There's a bed, and a beautiful, gleaming, eight drawer dresser, but I have never made any effort of move towards them, I head straight for the closet door in front of me. When I open it, I leave the neat and orderly behind me, and move into chaos. Things are strewn about, piled and tossed carelessly around. It's mayhem. I know, with whatever powers I possess, that whatever I am looking for is in this place. It's huge. Bigger than all of the other rooms in the apartment, combined. I'm not scared. I'm resigned, and I always take a deep breath and feel overwhelmed but determined and I start my search.
While I don't have a concept of what it is that I am pursuing, I know that I will find it, that I will move a box, dig into a pile of discarded clothing, push aside a chair or an empty shelf and, there it will be, waiting to be plucked out of oblivion. I have such a feeling of elation when I finally find it. Then a moment passes, and I'm stuck with an almost crippling sadness because possessing this item means that I have to leave this place. I have a desperate need to turn to someone for comfort, but I am always alone here. If I've come with anyone, I've long since left them behind. I pull myself to my feet and dry my tears and take a long look around at the disorder that surrounds me on every side, and I turn and walk back to the door, but I always stop and follow the wall to the right. There's a staircase hidden in the corner. Whatever lies at the bottom of those stairs has never managed to lure me to attempt descend them. I stand at the top, staring down at darkness, and it seems like a lifetime passes. Then, I simply turn back, back through the purple room, polished and pretty, back into the living room and always, I take a second look at that magnificent indigo couch and promise myself, "Next time", and I leave with a click of the lock to whatever waits on the outside.
This place, this dream, it's my sanctuary. It's a gift to visit, but I never, ever, not once, look back on my way out the door.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Teachable Moments
Yesterday morning, Zoe woke up with a Kinda Gross left eye. I live in the state of Denial, and I love it here....it's pretty and there's a lot of flowers.....so I assumed that the 'Maybe It's a A Spring Cold, Possibly Allergies' that she's had since last Thursday had irritated her eyes and I watched. It got progressively worse as the day went on. Kinda Gross turned in to Really Gross, and then she woke up this morning and skipped straight to Nasty Left Eye, Kinda Gross Right Eye. So, I packed up my bags and moved from Denial into Admittance. My kid has pink eye. In both eyes. (Overachiever!) We spent much of yesterday with me telling her to WASH YOUR HANDS!
I called the doctor's office at 8am today, made an appointment for both Zoe, and Austin, who doesn't have Nasty Eye problems, and off we went. For a Monday, the doctor's office was surprisingly on time and efficient. We were out and on our way to the pharmacy in a little over a half an hour.
The pharmacy is where the wheels fell off the cart a little.
The pharmacy is where Unhappy Lady was working.
Unhappy Lady, who told me that the prescription for Zoe's eye drops was going to be $84 and some change. She looked me up and down, and in a VERY condescending tone, asked if I would like for them to call the doctor to see if they could substitute something cheaper. I, very politely, said, "That would be great, if you could." She came back with a humpf, and told me it would be about fifteen minutes. I am a reasonably intelligent, adult woman. I know when someone is being snotty to me. I know when I am being judged, and I know that when her eyes looked at my left hand, she wasn't admiring my wedding band set. She was checking to see if I had one. So, I'm standing there, feeling judged, with two of my kids, and I thanked her and walked away.
The kids and I went to pick up a few other items while we waited, returning in fifteen minutes, and I approached Unhappy Lady, once again, to ask if the prescription was ready. She was so short with me, and so incredibly rude about telling me that the eye drops, were not, in fact, ready, that I wanted to take her snark, add some sarcasm, (it's my second language, after all) and shove it all back down her throat.
Then I glanced down and saw the (slightly disgusting) eyes of my daughter, and I looked back up and said thanks and took a seat on the bench.
About five minutes later, another pharmacy employee called Zoe's name and we went to the counter, paid $4 for the eye drops, and walked out the door.
Later, on the way home, Zoe and I had the following conversation.
"Mommy?"
"Hmm?"
"Why was that lady so mean?"
"I have no idea."
"Why were you so nice to her, after she was mean?"
"I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt."
"What does that mean?"
"It means.... maybe she was having a really bad day, and I didn't want to make it worse."
"But didn't she make your day worse by being mean?"
"I guess, but my mom always said, 'two wrongs don't make a right'. That means that even if she was nasty to me, it doesn't make it any better for anyone if I'm nasty back to her."
"Was she mad because you didn't want to pay $84 for the eye drops?"
"I don't know, maybe, I guess."
"Do you always be nice to people who act like that?"
"Not always."
"Why?"
"Because I'm human. Because I have bad days, too."
"Maybe it helped her day that you smiled at her."
"Maybe. But for sure, it didn't hurt anything, and it didn't cost me anything, either."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"I'm glad you're my mom."
"I'm super lucky to be your mom, and I'm glad you're my kid."
So, Unhappy Lady, thank you for giving me the opportunity to teach my kid something. Believe me, this story could have gone in a completely different direction. I'm glad you were on our path today, I'm happy to have had the chance to smile at you, and I'm really grateful that you helped my family save $80, because my children have been raised to enjoy the finer things in life, like....food and lights. I hope your day got better. Mine absolutely did. I dropped the boy off at school, brought my Icky-Eyed girl home, gave her the discounted eye drops and watched Frozen. (Again.) I don't know what prompted your judgement, and truthfully, I don't care that much. I just, truthfully, and from the very bottom of my heart, hope you have a nice day.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Of Ostrich Eggs and Killer Scarves
In this blog entry I will attempt to explain to you the events of the last 20 hours of my life. I need for you to understand that I couldn't sit down and make this stuff up if I tried. I need for you to understand that in the grand scheme of things, this was actually a fairly typical day for me. I need for you to understand that if you see me at Sun Mart buying several boxes of wine....well.....please just try to understand.
Six months ago, when we added Leo to our family, I had but one hope. (That's totally untrue. I had lots of hopes.) I wanted a dog who could not tear me apart limb from limb, but who would warn me of possible intruders in the night, and also, maybe keep my feet warm once in awhile. We brought this Chi Weenie home, and my hand to God, he didn't bark at all for the first month he was here. When he finally found his bark, I worried he would be one of those dogs that irritates everyone around him by never shutting up. I didn't need to worry. He isn't a barker. One time, a few weeks ago, he went absolutely bat-shit crazy at four in the morning, hair standing on end, teeth baring, CRAZY with a capital K.One time, in six months. Understanding this, when he started growling and barking at exactly 1:24am today, I took notice. A lot of notice.
Initially, I thought one of the kids may have been awake in the kitchen. But I didn't actually hear anything. So I grabbed him under my arm, and got up to see if he had a bathroom related emergency that he needed to handle. Only, he squirmed and fought me trying to NOT leave my bedroom. At this point, it also occurred to me that if it were a member of my family, he wouldn't be panicking. He would be as happy to see one of them at 1:24am, as he is any other time of day. And then I heard a noise. A soft thud.
Here is the part where I tell you that I have a really big stick in my bedroom designed for just this type of emergency.
Around the corner I went, seven and a half pounds of terrified dog in one arm, a giant stick in the other. Looking back, I realize that if what I found had actually been an intruder, my only hope of doing any damage with the stick would have been to throw the dog at them first.
I crossed into the dining room, the dog jumped out of my arms and took off running in the dark. I continued to the kitchen, stealthy and quiet and only stubbing two toes on my way to turn on the light. I took a good look around. The only thing I could see was that there were two lunch boxes on the ground in the pantry that had previously been on a shelf. I did a perimeter check of the house, and returned to the pantry to set things straight. What I saw there, I can never UNsee.
Last summer, Zoe and her cousin spent two weeks with their grandparents. On one outing, they were taken to a farm that had ostriches. Each was sent home with a Styrofoam cooler full of an ostrich egg. Zoe's Styrofoam cooler ended up on the pantry shelf.
Do you see what's coming?
I guess I assumed that the ostrich egg had been emptied of it's contents. I was, sadly, mistaken. For whatever reason, the Gods of Decomposing deemed 1:24am this morning the point of no return for the contents of the egg. And it exploded. It blew off the top of the cooler, on which sat two lunch boxes.
If there is a silver lining in this story, it is that 99% of the mess that is contained within a really, really, really old ostrich egg was still inside the cooler. There was only a large percentage of shell to gather. There was a smell that makes me think that my nose will never forgive me, but once the lid was carefully placed back, the smell was pretty much contained as well.
After an unplanned, very early morning disinfecting of the pantry occurred, I wandered around looking for the dog. You know how when you're a little kid, you think that as long as you have your head covered, no one can see you? (Or was that just me?!)
That is King Leonidas "IL Martello" Abramo, in 'Duck and Cover' mode. This is my brave and loyal warrior. And let me tell you, it took some work getting him out from under there.
About a month ago, John bought me a very soft, woolly, purple scarf and mitten set. The only real issue that I seem to have is that the scarf is exceptionally long. Twice today I stepped on one end of the scarf and essentially 'clothes lined' myself. In public. Where there were people. TWICE. It really was a banner day for my dignity.
At the end of the day, my dog has PTSD, my pantry hasn't been this clean in a really long time, I will probably never eat eggs of any kind again, and I think it's possible that there are two different surveillance videos of me, gracefully and elegantly attempting to garrote myself.
That's a wrap, Thursday! See ya next week!
Six months ago, when we added Leo to our family, I had but one hope. (That's totally untrue. I had lots of hopes.) I wanted a dog who could not tear me apart limb from limb, but who would warn me of possible intruders in the night, and also, maybe keep my feet warm once in awhile. We brought this Chi Weenie home, and my hand to God, he didn't bark at all for the first month he was here. When he finally found his bark, I worried he would be one of those dogs that irritates everyone around him by never shutting up. I didn't need to worry. He isn't a barker. One time, a few weeks ago, he went absolutely bat-shit crazy at four in the morning, hair standing on end, teeth baring, CRAZY with a capital K.One time, in six months. Understanding this, when he started growling and barking at exactly 1:24am today, I took notice. A lot of notice.
Initially, I thought one of the kids may have been awake in the kitchen. But I didn't actually hear anything. So I grabbed him under my arm, and got up to see if he had a bathroom related emergency that he needed to handle. Only, he squirmed and fought me trying to NOT leave my bedroom. At this point, it also occurred to me that if it were a member of my family, he wouldn't be panicking. He would be as happy to see one of them at 1:24am, as he is any other time of day. And then I heard a noise. A soft thud.
Here is the part where I tell you that I have a really big stick in my bedroom designed for just this type of emergency.
Around the corner I went, seven and a half pounds of terrified dog in one arm, a giant stick in the other. Looking back, I realize that if what I found had actually been an intruder, my only hope of doing any damage with the stick would have been to throw the dog at them first.
I crossed into the dining room, the dog jumped out of my arms and took off running in the dark. I continued to the kitchen, stealthy and quiet and only stubbing two toes on my way to turn on the light. I took a good look around. The only thing I could see was that there were two lunch boxes on the ground in the pantry that had previously been on a shelf. I did a perimeter check of the house, and returned to the pantry to set things straight. What I saw there, I can never UNsee.
Last summer, Zoe and her cousin spent two weeks with their grandparents. On one outing, they were taken to a farm that had ostriches. Each was sent home with a Styrofoam cooler full of an ostrich egg. Zoe's Styrofoam cooler ended up on the pantry shelf.
Do you see what's coming?
I guess I assumed that the ostrich egg had been emptied of it's contents. I was, sadly, mistaken. For whatever reason, the Gods of Decomposing deemed 1:24am this morning the point of no return for the contents of the egg. And it exploded. It blew off the top of the cooler, on which sat two lunch boxes.
If there is a silver lining in this story, it is that 99% of the mess that is contained within a really, really, really old ostrich egg was still inside the cooler. There was only a large percentage of shell to gather. There was a smell that makes me think that my nose will never forgive me, but once the lid was carefully placed back, the smell was pretty much contained as well.
After an unplanned, very early morning disinfecting of the pantry occurred, I wandered around looking for the dog. You know how when you're a little kid, you think that as long as you have your head covered, no one can see you? (Or was that just me?!)
That is King Leonidas "IL Martello" Abramo, in 'Duck and Cover' mode. This is my brave and loyal warrior. And let me tell you, it took some work getting him out from under there.
About a month ago, John bought me a very soft, woolly, purple scarf and mitten set. The only real issue that I seem to have is that the scarf is exceptionally long. Twice today I stepped on one end of the scarf and essentially 'clothes lined' myself. In public. Where there were people. TWICE. It really was a banner day for my dignity.
At the end of the day, my dog has PTSD, my pantry hasn't been this clean in a really long time, I will probably never eat eggs of any kind again, and I think it's possible that there are two different surveillance videos of me, gracefully and elegantly attempting to garrote myself.
That's a wrap, Thursday! See ya next week!
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Zoe's Guys
In the late spring about six years ago, the six of us lived in a tiny little town twenty miles west of McCook, Nebraska. John worked out of town Monday through Friday. That left me, and four kids. I don't remember exactly what was happening in our lives at the time, but I know that I had a toddler at home with me all day. I know that a lot of the times if I didn't get my shower taken during her late morning nap, I had to wait until the older kids got home from school so there was some sort of supervision. And I use that word as broadly as possible. Because when you ask children to watch other children.....it usually leads to the cereal cabinet being emptied onto the kitchen floor or the breaking of all the things.
On one particular day, I missed my designated shower time, and when the kids got off the bus, I asked them to please keep an eye on Zoe so I could shower. At some point, someone decided to give her lessons in how to play Dodge ball in the kitchen. You know, the way they do. I'm sure at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable to a bunch of children. It must have been the straw that broke the Momma's heart, because I remember sitting down on the shower floor and crying, and saying over and over, "Please God, send me some help. Please. I don't think I can handle this."
Two days later, help arrived.
Zoe and I woke up to the sounds of things being pounded on. Loud, construction-like noises were coming from the backyard. So, I opened the shades and we looked out to find that on the other side of the alley behind our house, someone was building something. Zoe was fascinated. She refused to leave the window. She sat and had breakfast there. She cried when I tried to shut the blinds. She asked me seventeen million questions about what they were doing and why. I must have said something about the guys who were working over there.
The next morning, she woke up in her usual, 'hit the ground running' fashion and asked if we could see her guys. It took me a minute. I opened the window and she sat there, watching. I gave her some chocolate milk, made sure the doors were locked, and took my first uninterrupted shower in a long time.
She talked constantly about 'my guys', and what they were doing, and how their day was going. She told people in the grocery store. She talked about it to her grandparents. She told her Daddy over the phone, "My guys are comin', Daddy. My guys are comin' over today." And I am sure that since he was out of town and had no clue what any of it meant, it was pretty fun to hear. Over and over again.
For a couple of weeks, in the late spring warmth, help arrived in my life via a sweaty construction crew. This is how I know that God has a sense of humor. I showered alone everyday they were building that metal building. I thanked God for them. While they were there, I took full advantage of them and by the time they left, I had a handle on things again.
About a week after they were gone, Zoe woke up crying in the night. She asked to look out the window, to see her guys. It was dark, and they were gone, and she grieved for a minute and then moved on to whatever the next thing was. (It was collecting, 'pig money', just in case you were wondering. Another story, another day.)
All of this is on my mind today because I am feeling like maybe I need some help here this week. It's nothing major. Just life stuff. I was just asking for a little guidance and some patience and maybe a construction crew to distract my kids for a little while.
Zoe's "guys" never knew she was there. They never knew how much they helped an overwhelmed Mom get the reins back. So, I don't know where it will come from, but I know that the help will come.
On one particular day, I missed my designated shower time, and when the kids got off the bus, I asked them to please keep an eye on Zoe so I could shower. At some point, someone decided to give her lessons in how to play Dodge ball in the kitchen. You know, the way they do. I'm sure at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable to a bunch of children. It must have been the straw that broke the Momma's heart, because I remember sitting down on the shower floor and crying, and saying over and over, "Please God, send me some help. Please. I don't think I can handle this."
Two days later, help arrived.
Zoe and I woke up to the sounds of things being pounded on. Loud, construction-like noises were coming from the backyard. So, I opened the shades and we looked out to find that on the other side of the alley behind our house, someone was building something. Zoe was fascinated. She refused to leave the window. She sat and had breakfast there. She cried when I tried to shut the blinds. She asked me seventeen million questions about what they were doing and why. I must have said something about the guys who were working over there.
The next morning, she woke up in her usual, 'hit the ground running' fashion and asked if we could see her guys. It took me a minute. I opened the window and she sat there, watching. I gave her some chocolate milk, made sure the doors were locked, and took my first uninterrupted shower in a long time.
She talked constantly about 'my guys', and what they were doing, and how their day was going. She told people in the grocery store. She talked about it to her grandparents. She told her Daddy over the phone, "My guys are comin', Daddy. My guys are comin' over today." And I am sure that since he was out of town and had no clue what any of it meant, it was pretty fun to hear. Over and over again.
For a couple of weeks, in the late spring warmth, help arrived in my life via a sweaty construction crew. This is how I know that God has a sense of humor. I showered alone everyday they were building that metal building. I thanked God for them. While they were there, I took full advantage of them and by the time they left, I had a handle on things again.
About a week after they were gone, Zoe woke up crying in the night. She asked to look out the window, to see her guys. It was dark, and they were gone, and she grieved for a minute and then moved on to whatever the next thing was. (It was collecting, 'pig money', just in case you were wondering. Another story, another day.)
All of this is on my mind today because I am feeling like maybe I need some help here this week. It's nothing major. Just life stuff. I was just asking for a little guidance and some patience and maybe a construction crew to distract my kids for a little while.
Zoe's "guys" never knew she was there. They never knew how much they helped an overwhelmed Mom get the reins back. So, I don't know where it will come from, but I know that the help will come.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Nine
At precisely 7:10pm, nine year ago today, the world was made a better place. By me. Oh....John too, but mostly me. Nine years ago tonight, on a night not that different from tonight, we made the trek across Omaha, from roughly 132nd and Maple to Clarkson Hospital. I had been in labor all day. I waited until I couldn't wait anymore. We arrived at the hospital at 6:30pm, and forty minutes later, Zoe LeeAnne Abramo arrived. She weighed in at 6 pounds, 2 ounces and was 19 inches long. She was born with a full head of black hair. She was healthy, and happy unless she was cold, hungry or wet. She seemed to gaze at me with a healthy amount of skepticism as to whether or not I was equipped for the job at hand.
The following is an interview I conducted with the Birthday Girl. The answers are all her own. I didn't paraphrase in anyway. I asked the questions and she answered them while I typed her answers and she marveled at my ability to type without looking at the keyboard.
Me: What makes you happy?
Zoe: My family. School. Reading. Presents.
Me: What makes you sad?
Zoe: If my parents died.
Me: What scares you the most?
Zoe: If we were in a dark place and I lost you.
Me: What do you think about this first nine years?
Zoe: They've been pretty good. I can't wait to see what the rest of the year will be like.
Me: What is your favorite memory from your first nine years?
Zoe: First time I read a book on my own.
Me: Where do you think you'll be nine years from now?
Zoe: Since I'll be 18, I'll probably be in college or still in high school.
Me: What do you think it means to be beautiful?
Zoe: I don't think you need beauty. I think you need to be smart. Some girls need to think less about being popular and more about being smart. I care about school, not beauty.
Me: What does it mean to be a good friend?
Zoe: I think being a good friend means being nice. I care more about my friends than me.
Me: If someone asked you to do something that you know is wrong, or would hurt someone, what would you do?
Zoe: I wouldn't do it. I would say, "You shouldn't do that. It could hurt someone. You should treat others like you want them to treat you. Do you want someone to do this to you?"
Me: Who do you want to be like when you grow up?
Zoe: I kind of want to grow up to be like you, since I care about you. I also want to be like Daddy because he served in the Army, and girls can serve in the Army.
Me: Is there anything else you want to tell me?
Zoe: Some people think that their parents don't care about them, but deep down they really do. It's like me and Austin. Sometimes I think he doesn't love me, but he really does.
Me: Do you ever feel like I don't love you?
Zoe: No. You tell me every day. Like, a lot. So...no.
Me: What was the last thing that made you cry?
Zoe: My friends called me 'mean', and one of my other friends said to those friends that they should say they were sorry, but when they said it, they were smiling and started laughing. That really set me off.
Me: What was the last thing that made you laugh?
Zoe: The dog was laying with us and he put his paw on my face and you said, "I now baptize you in the name of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Dog Biscuit."
Me: If you could have anything you wanted, what would you pick?
Zoe: A school, so that I could teach a bunch of kids, like my school does for me.
Me: What are you getting me for Christmas?
Zoe: Mooooommmmmyyy! I'm not telling you!
Me: Can I have the last piece of your birthday cake?
Zoe: I'll split it with you.
In case anyone is curious, I didn't even cry once, all day, until I got to the one about beauty.
And now I am going to shut this down and go split the last piece of Triple Chocolate Cake with her, because she looks like her Daddy, but she eats chocolate like her Mommy.
Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet, Zo. I love you to the moon, to the moon.
The following is an interview I conducted with the Birthday Girl. The answers are all her own. I didn't paraphrase in anyway. I asked the questions and she answered them while I typed her answers and she marveled at my ability to type without looking at the keyboard.
Me: What makes you happy?
Zoe: My family. School. Reading. Presents.
Me: What makes you sad?
Zoe: If my parents died.
Me: What scares you the most?
Zoe: If we were in a dark place and I lost you.
Me: What do you think about this first nine years?
Zoe: They've been pretty good. I can't wait to see what the rest of the year will be like.
Me: What is your favorite memory from your first nine years?
Zoe: First time I read a book on my own.
Me: Where do you think you'll be nine years from now?
Zoe: Since I'll be 18, I'll probably be in college or still in high school.
Me: What do you think it means to be beautiful?
Zoe: I don't think you need beauty. I think you need to be smart. Some girls need to think less about being popular and more about being smart. I care about school, not beauty.
Me: What does it mean to be a good friend?
Zoe: I think being a good friend means being nice. I care more about my friends than me.
Me: If someone asked you to do something that you know is wrong, or would hurt someone, what would you do?
Zoe: I wouldn't do it. I would say, "You shouldn't do that. It could hurt someone. You should treat others like you want them to treat you. Do you want someone to do this to you?"
Me: Who do you want to be like when you grow up?
Zoe: I kind of want to grow up to be like you, since I care about you. I also want to be like Daddy because he served in the Army, and girls can serve in the Army.
Me: Is there anything else you want to tell me?
Zoe: Some people think that their parents don't care about them, but deep down they really do. It's like me and Austin. Sometimes I think he doesn't love me, but he really does.
Me: Do you ever feel like I don't love you?
Zoe: No. You tell me every day. Like, a lot. So...no.
Me: What was the last thing that made you cry?
Zoe: My friends called me 'mean', and one of my other friends said to those friends that they should say they were sorry, but when they said it, they were smiling and started laughing. That really set me off.
Me: What was the last thing that made you laugh?
Zoe: The dog was laying with us and he put his paw on my face and you said, "I now baptize you in the name of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Dog Biscuit."
Me: If you could have anything you wanted, what would you pick?
Zoe: A school, so that I could teach a bunch of kids, like my school does for me.
Me: What are you getting me for Christmas?
Zoe: Mooooommmmmyyy! I'm not telling you!
Me: Can I have the last piece of your birthday cake?
Zoe: I'll split it with you.
In case anyone is curious, I didn't even cry once, all day, until I got to the one about beauty.
And now I am going to shut this down and go split the last piece of Triple Chocolate Cake with her, because she looks like her Daddy, but she eats chocolate like her Mommy.
Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet, Zo. I love you to the moon, to the moon.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Jello, The Army, and Other Assorted Nonsense
I want to write. I want to pour it all out and get it all out of my head.....but because I do not want to write about what I want to write about tonight, let me share with you the following things:
Thing Number One:
A Conversation With Zoe
Me: How was your day at school?
Zoe: Great! Right up until lunch.
Me: What happened at lunch?
Zoe: They had green jello. With PINEAPPLE in it. *makes gaggy face*
Me: That's disgusting! Did you eat it?
Zoe: Are you kidding me!?
Me: Yeah. I knew you wouldn't eat that.
Zoe: The worst part is, they ran out of green jello and the people who eat lunch after my class got to have orange jello, with nothing in it! That is SO, TOTALLY not fair.
Me: That's disgusting!
Zoe: I like orange jello. And I would like green jello but who puts PINEAPPLE in jello?
Me: Some people like jello with cottage cheese in it.
Zoe: (Almost faints from horror) Say it ain't so, Mommy!
Me: Truth. Swear on a stack of Bibles, I have, with my own eyes, seen people eat it.
Zoe: I think I'm gonna be sick!
Me: Preaching to the choir, Kid. I think jello, in any form is horrifying unless you are in the hospital and can't eat anything else.
Zoe: Did you have to eat jello when you were in the hospital after I was born?
Me: No.
Zoe: What did you eat?
Me: Two ham sandwiches.
Zoe: You had a HAM sandwich to celebrate my being born?!
Me: I had TWO ham sandwiches. With NO mayo. Because I love you THAT much.
Zoe: And also because you were starving?
Me: That too.
Zoe: I still think the orange jello thing isn't fair.
Me: You want me to make some calls?
Zoe: Mommy, it's jello.
Me: I know, but it seems really important to you because we've been talking about it for a long time now.
Zoe: *Giggles* My day was good. How was yours?
Me: Now you ask?!! How can I possibly compete with the Green Jello Pineapple Disaster of 2013!?
Zoe: Stop being so dramatic!
Thing Number Two
I very rarely answer my phone if I don't know the number on the caller id. This evening a strange number called and I waited to see if they would leave a voicemail message. They did not. But when the same number called back five minutes later, I thought I'd better find out who it was. The following is the conversation that took place. I have paraphrased a little.
"Hello, Mrs. Abrams. (<---------Red flag!) This is Somebody Something Some Such. I'm calling from the United States Army. Do you have a High School Senior attending Wahoo High School?" At this point there is a slightly awkward pause as I asked myself the following questions: A) Why is the Army calling me? What the HELL did I do now!? B) DO *I* have a high school senior???? C) How the HELL do I have a high school senior!!??
"Yes. That would be my daughter."
"Is she available to talk with me regarding her future plans?"
"Nope."
Awkward silence.
"Is there a better time to reach her?"
"You can call her on her phone."
"Oh, okay...and that number is?"
"402-443-...........I don't know her phone number. Hold on, it's saved in my contacts. *search contacts* 443-####. That's her number."
"Thank you, ma'am. Have a great night."
I hung up my phone and realized I gave him the wrong number.
If the Army comes looking for me I am screwed, but I will probably blame it on him reminding me that my child is a senior in high school AND calling me 'ma'am' in the same conversation. That's too much for this girl, Army.
Assorted Nonsense
My dog believes that if he chews up all the shoes in this house, all of the humans will be forced to stay in and cuddle him all day.
My dog believes that if he pees on, or chews up, all of the beds, pillows and blankets we offer for him to sleep on while in his 'kennel' (the pantry), we will have no choice but to let him sleep in our bed.
My dog believes that wet grass is for punk bitches.
Thing Number One:
A Conversation With Zoe
Me: How was your day at school?
Zoe: Great! Right up until lunch.
Me: What happened at lunch?
Zoe: They had green jello. With PINEAPPLE in it. *makes gaggy face*
Me: That's disgusting! Did you eat it?
Zoe: Are you kidding me!?
Me: Yeah. I knew you wouldn't eat that.
Zoe: The worst part is, they ran out of green jello and the people who eat lunch after my class got to have orange jello, with nothing in it! That is SO, TOTALLY not fair.
Me: That's disgusting!
Zoe: I like orange jello. And I would like green jello but who puts PINEAPPLE in jello?
Me: Some people like jello with cottage cheese in it.
Zoe: (Almost faints from horror) Say it ain't so, Mommy!
Me: Truth. Swear on a stack of Bibles, I have, with my own eyes, seen people eat it.
Zoe: I think I'm gonna be sick!
Me: Preaching to the choir, Kid. I think jello, in any form is horrifying unless you are in the hospital and can't eat anything else.
Zoe: Did you have to eat jello when you were in the hospital after I was born?
Me: No.
Zoe: What did you eat?
Me: Two ham sandwiches.
Zoe: You had a HAM sandwich to celebrate my being born?!
Me: I had TWO ham sandwiches. With NO mayo. Because I love you THAT much.
Zoe: And also because you were starving?
Me: That too.
Zoe: I still think the orange jello thing isn't fair.
Me: You want me to make some calls?
Zoe: Mommy, it's jello.
Me: I know, but it seems really important to you because we've been talking about it for a long time now.
Zoe: *Giggles* My day was good. How was yours?
Me: Now you ask?!! How can I possibly compete with the Green Jello Pineapple Disaster of 2013!?
Zoe: Stop being so dramatic!
Thing Number Two
I very rarely answer my phone if I don't know the number on the caller id. This evening a strange number called and I waited to see if they would leave a voicemail message. They did not. But when the same number called back five minutes later, I thought I'd better find out who it was. The following is the conversation that took place. I have paraphrased a little.
"Hello, Mrs. Abrams. (<---------Red flag!) This is Somebody Something Some Such. I'm calling from the United States Army. Do you have a High School Senior attending Wahoo High School?" At this point there is a slightly awkward pause as I asked myself the following questions: A) Why is the Army calling me? What the HELL did I do now!? B) DO *I* have a high school senior???? C) How the HELL do I have a high school senior!!??
"Yes. That would be my daughter."
"Is she available to talk with me regarding her future plans?"
"Nope."
Awkward silence.
"Is there a better time to reach her?"
"You can call her on her phone."
"Oh, okay...and that number is?"
"402-443-...........I don't know her phone number. Hold on, it's saved in my contacts. *search contacts* 443-####. That's her number."
"Thank you, ma'am. Have a great night."
I hung up my phone and realized I gave him the wrong number.
If the Army comes looking for me I am screwed, but I will probably blame it on him reminding me that my child is a senior in high school AND calling me 'ma'am' in the same conversation. That's too much for this girl, Army.
Assorted Nonsense
My dog believes that if he chews up all the shoes in this house, all of the humans will be forced to stay in and cuddle him all day.
My dog believes that if he pees on, or chews up, all of the beds, pillows and blankets we offer for him to sleep on while in his 'kennel' (the pantry), we will have no choice but to let him sleep in our bed.
My dog believes that wet grass is for punk bitches.
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