At work over the past couple of years I've been tasked with creating a monthly ‘health newsletter’. Yeah, it’s as exciting as it sounds.
But one thing I’ve realized as I work on the articles that are in these newsletters is that more often than not, articles about exercise and nutrition piss me off.
When some ‘expert’ writes about overtraining and suggests that ‘after particularly hard day, give yourself a break that next day. Go on a gentle hike or take a yoga class.’
I just want to puke.
First of all, who the hell has time to ‘go on a gentle hike’? I know I don’t. I don’t leave anywhere near a place to hike, so I’d have to DRIVE somewhere to do it.
I work 40+ hours a week. Then I go home and do a minimum of 20 minutes of homework with Olivia each night. After that, I make dinner and clean up after dinner. THEN I pack lunches. If I’m lucky and it’s not Olivia’s bath/shower night, I’m done around 7:30. Who want to go on a hike at that point?
Not me, that’s for sure. And a yoga class? I don’t live anywhere near a place where I could take a yoga class in person so it would have to be done in my living room with an audience. No thank you.
I read the blog of a woman (why do I read this blog when it irritates me so much? That’s a question for another day.) who claims to go for 4+ mile walks or do some sort of Facebook workout each day before the kids she babysits for show up. This woman had six kids of her own and babysits in her home. Supposedly, if one of her teenagers is home, she’ll just trot out for an hour in the middle of the day and go for a ‘run.’
**This reminds me of way back when there were ‘discussion boards’. I often visited one at iVillage and there was women (who turned out to be a troll) who’d post on a board for step-parents. The line I remember most is when she once wrote, “I insist on a hot breakfast.” I read that with a snotty little smirk, like people who serve their kids Lucky Charms with extra marshmallows should be forced to relinquish custody. This troll would often talk about how he and her husband would go for walks in the evenings after the kids (I think she claimed there were six of them) were in bed. Sure. Sure they did.**
Can you hear my eyes rolling from here? Give me a break.
I know there are people who make exercise a priority. Bully for them.
I read an article recently (again for the work newsletter) that talked about not making exercise about losing weight. It suggested that people instead make exercise about being healthy.
Duh. Like we don’t all know that.
It also nagged about how a person shouldn’t make themselves do workouts they don’t enjoy. That sort of thing isn’t sustainable. You think?
I think my bad attitude comes from the fact that I KNOW what I SHOULD be doing. I KNOW! But I don’t know how to make what I should be doing a priority. Instead, I have to prioritize homework, and making a living so we can pay our bills and keep a roof over our head. I have to make dinner and clean up. I have to pack lunches and at some point, I just have to be done doing and doing and doing.
So the thought of going out at 8pm (because I am NOT getting up before 5:45 to exercise) and exercising is not attractive to me. Even if I could find an exercise that I might actually enjoy (hahahhaha) actually doing that exercise at the end of a day that started at 5:45am and is still going at 8pm is probably out of the question.
Just ignore this post. I felt the need to whine and bitch and sometimes. Getting it out of my head makes me less likely to be bitchy about it, even if I don’t vocalize it, when I get home.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Monday, May 31, 2021
Friday, May 28, 2021
The No-Good, Very Bad McDonald's
We were on our way home from a track meet and Alyssa asked if we could stop at McDonald’s and get her a McDouble, fries and a strawberry shake.
I said sure and we headed north and west, toward home and the nearest McD’s. We were about an hour away from home, in Defiance, Ohio.
We found the McD’s and took our place in the drive-thru line. The line wasn’t bad when we got there. It got much worse soon after we arrived.
I placed our order: 1 McDouble cheese burger 1 six-piece chicken McNuggets with ranch 2 medium fries 1 medium strawberry shake 1 medium chocolate shake 1 large Coke 1 water
We head to the first window where we handed over our $17.31, exact change, thank you very much because I’m ancient and it’s what I do. They were lucky I didn’t have an actual change purse carrying all my coins.
We got to the second window and the girl inside asked, “What did you have?”
I told her and she handed us our water, Coke and a bag of food. I asked about the shakes.
She looked confused and asked someone inside if they’d ‘made’ the shakes.
You know that at McD’s, you don’t actually MAKE shakes, right? You just pour the milky substance from the machine into the cups. It’s not complicated.
She then asked us to please go park in “Drive-Thru Reserved Parking #2.”
Mmmm, okay. We did this and Alyssa ate her McDouble in about four bites. She was hungry. She snacked on her fries while we waited for her strawberry shake.
My mom ate her fries and we waited for the shakes. We hoped whoever brought the shakes would also bring straws for our Coke and water since they hadn’t been place in the bag with the food like they usually were.
I looked at the clock and it was 7:06. I declared that at 7:15, I would go inside, Covid be damned, and ask for the shakes.
My mom decided that was a ridiculous amount of time to wait and stomped inside.
She came out with straws but no shakes.
She said that the straws were just inside the door so she’d just grabbed them and left.
I had been waiting for the straw to eat my McNuggets because I wanted to drink the sweet, sweet Coke while I ate.
I ate a nugget and took a drink of the Coke. It tasted weird but I thought nothing of it. It was similar to when I’d had issues with my taste buds right after chemo.
I finished off the nuggets with minimal sips of Coke because it really was a weird taste.
A poor McD’s worker, a very thin young man with crossed eyes, came to our car with a bag. I wondered for a moment if he’d bagged our shakes. Nope, he asked if we were the car waiting for the McDouble and 6-piece nuggets.
I replied that we were actually waiting for shakes. But as he walked away, I realized he’d brought the FOOD we’d ordered and received. He’d already walked back inside before I could ask when we might expect the shakes.
The woman in the car next to us got out and stormed into the restaurant. I got out and threw away our garbage and decided I’d go in too and see what the problem was with the shakes.
I decided that while I was already out of the car, I’d also go inside and find out about the shakes.
The woman who’d stomped into the restaurant came back out, fire shooting out of her ears.
I got up to the counter and ignored for a few seconds but then the cross-eyed dude came back in after taking something out and I asked him about the shakes.
An older (probably 30s) woman asked what kind of shakes and what size.
I told her.
She told poor cross-eyed dude to make them for me.
I waited. And waited.
The poor fella seemed to be having trouble filling the cups with the shakes. He grabbed a handful of napkins and cleaned the chocolate off the outside of the cup.
Then he came to the counter and asked very timidly, “Uhh, the strawberry isn’t working. Will you take vanilla?”
I politely told him yes, I would take vanilla.
I just REALLY wanted to get out of there. I felt like if I was in there much longer, I would never escape and it would turn into an episode of The Twilight Zone.
I escaped with my mom’s chocolate shake and Alyssa’s now-vanilla shake.
They were relieved to see me, having feared, like I had, that I’d never return from the black hole that was McDonald’s lobby.
I picked up my Coke for another drink and paused when I saw that the lid had the ‘diet’ tab pushed in.
SON OF A BITCH!
That was why my Coke tasted weird. It was DIET. I HATE diet Coke.
However.
I was NOT going back in the restaurant. I had maybe taken five drinks so it was pretty full. I figured it was the universe telling me I didn’t need caffeine that late in the evening.
The rest of our trip home was uneventful. We ranted a bit about the service at that McDonald’s but then let it go because life’s too short to get that miffed about a couple of shakes. We were in good company and had a nice evening.
When I got home, I was preparing to pour the nasty diet Coke down the drain when Tom stopped me.
He took a sip and declared it, “Deeeeee-licious.”
Then he proceeded to drank it all. I was glad because suddenly I didn’t feel like I’d wasted my money.
I said sure and we headed north and west, toward home and the nearest McD’s. We were about an hour away from home, in Defiance, Ohio.
We found the McD’s and took our place in the drive-thru line. The line wasn’t bad when we got there. It got much worse soon after we arrived.
I placed our order: 1 McDouble cheese burger 1 six-piece chicken McNuggets with ranch 2 medium fries 1 medium strawberry shake 1 medium chocolate shake 1 large Coke 1 water
We head to the first window where we handed over our $17.31, exact change, thank you very much because I’m ancient and it’s what I do. They were lucky I didn’t have an actual change purse carrying all my coins.
We got to the second window and the girl inside asked, “What did you have?”
I told her and she handed us our water, Coke and a bag of food. I asked about the shakes.
She looked confused and asked someone inside if they’d ‘made’ the shakes.
You know that at McD’s, you don’t actually MAKE shakes, right? You just pour the milky substance from the machine into the cups. It’s not complicated.
She then asked us to please go park in “Drive-Thru Reserved Parking #2.”
Mmmm, okay. We did this and Alyssa ate her McDouble in about four bites. She was hungry. She snacked on her fries while we waited for her strawberry shake.
My mom ate her fries and we waited for the shakes. We hoped whoever brought the shakes would also bring straws for our Coke and water since they hadn’t been place in the bag with the food like they usually were.
I looked at the clock and it was 7:06. I declared that at 7:15, I would go inside, Covid be damned, and ask for the shakes.
My mom decided that was a ridiculous amount of time to wait and stomped inside.
She came out with straws but no shakes.
She said that the straws were just inside the door so she’d just grabbed them and left.
I had been waiting for the straw to eat my McNuggets because I wanted to drink the sweet, sweet Coke while I ate.
I ate a nugget and took a drink of the Coke. It tasted weird but I thought nothing of it. It was similar to when I’d had issues with my taste buds right after chemo.
I finished off the nuggets with minimal sips of Coke because it really was a weird taste.
A poor McD’s worker, a very thin young man with crossed eyes, came to our car with a bag. I wondered for a moment if he’d bagged our shakes. Nope, he asked if we were the car waiting for the McDouble and 6-piece nuggets.
I replied that we were actually waiting for shakes. But as he walked away, I realized he’d brought the FOOD we’d ordered and received. He’d already walked back inside before I could ask when we might expect the shakes.
The woman in the car next to us got out and stormed into the restaurant. I got out and threw away our garbage and decided I’d go in too and see what the problem was with the shakes.
I decided that while I was already out of the car, I’d also go inside and find out about the shakes.
The woman who’d stomped into the restaurant came back out, fire shooting out of her ears.
I got up to the counter and ignored for a few seconds but then the cross-eyed dude came back in after taking something out and I asked him about the shakes.
An older (probably 30s) woman asked what kind of shakes and what size.
I told her.
She told poor cross-eyed dude to make them for me.
I waited. And waited.
The poor fella seemed to be having trouble filling the cups with the shakes. He grabbed a handful of napkins and cleaned the chocolate off the outside of the cup.
Then he came to the counter and asked very timidly, “Uhh, the strawberry isn’t working. Will you take vanilla?”
I politely told him yes, I would take vanilla.
I just REALLY wanted to get out of there. I felt like if I was in there much longer, I would never escape and it would turn into an episode of The Twilight Zone.
I escaped with my mom’s chocolate shake and Alyssa’s now-vanilla shake.
They were relieved to see me, having feared, like I had, that I’d never return from the black hole that was McDonald’s lobby.
I picked up my Coke for another drink and paused when I saw that the lid had the ‘diet’ tab pushed in.
SON OF A BITCH!
That was why my Coke tasted weird. It was DIET. I HATE diet Coke.
However.
I was NOT going back in the restaurant. I had maybe taken five drinks so it was pretty full. I figured it was the universe telling me I didn’t need caffeine that late in the evening.
The rest of our trip home was uneventful. We ranted a bit about the service at that McDonald’s but then let it go because life’s too short to get that miffed about a couple of shakes. We were in good company and had a nice evening.
When I got home, I was preparing to pour the nasty diet Coke down the drain when Tom stopped me.
He took a sip and declared it, “Deeeeee-licious.”
Then he proceeded to drank it all. I was glad because suddenly I didn’t feel like I’d wasted my money.
Thursday, May 27, 2021
Finding Her Voice
Today is Olivia's last day of seventh grade. It's been a great year for her, even with Covid and masks and one 'close contact' quarrantine.
She's had an incredible team working with her at school. Other than preschool, when her teacher was kind of a bitch, she’s had excellent teachers since she started at our tiny, rural school.
Every teacher, though, has struggled to get Olivia to speak in class. They’ve all managed to get her to whisper in response to a direct question but none have managed to get her to use anything above a whisper…until now.
Her current teacher and aide, Mrs. H and Ms. P, have both worked hard this year to try and get Olivia to use her voice.
While it could very much be Olivia’s maturity and social growth that has brought about this monumental event, I do give Mrs. H and Ms. P credit too.
One day after school and work, Olivia told me that she answered a question from Mrs. H in her normal voice. I asked her what she said and she told me she said, “Yes.”
It was one word but it was said at a normal volume, not a whisper. She said that Mrs. H and Ms. P were the only ones in the classroom with her and so she’d felt comfortable to answer the question.
I high fived her and gave her a hug, exclaiming how proud I was of her and how excited I was for her.
A few days later, she reported that Mrs. H hadn’t been at school that day but at the end of the day, Ms. P had asked Olivia if she’d answer a few questions from her classmates in her normal voice. Olivia agreed to try.
This time there were just two other students in the classroom with O and Ms. P so it wasn’t as if she were ‘performing’ for the entire class. Again, she said she just answered the questions with yes or no or used other one-word answers. But still, this was a big step.
She’s steadily increased the number of words she’ll give as an answer to questions but she’s speaking…out loud…to her teachers and classmates.
The most recent celebration was when she told me she talked to her other aide, Mrs. B. This woman has worked with Olivia since first grade. Olivia said Mrs. B asked her if she could hug her when she (Olivia) spoke aloud to her. Olivia practically preened with pride at this.
I love her team. I love that they’re so proud of her and making her proud of herself. I love that they’ve never once given up on her.
Her teacher recently sent me an email telling me proudly that Olivia spoke out loud to her speech therapist. This is another woman who has worked with Olivia since kindergarten. She’s never been one to give an inch where O is concerned. She’s known all along that Olivia was capable of more than she was giving. She was determined to be more stubborn that Olivia.
We’re getting there. She’s fourteen and still making amazing progress. I don’t think we ever know our true potential. We all have to keep working as hard as we can to do and be better. Let’s all try and be like Olivia, always improving, always getting better, always reaching farther.
She’s my hero, my inspiration.
She's had an incredible team working with her at school. Other than preschool, when her teacher was kind of a bitch, she’s had excellent teachers since she started at our tiny, rural school.
Every teacher, though, has struggled to get Olivia to speak in class. They’ve all managed to get her to whisper in response to a direct question but none have managed to get her to use anything above a whisper…until now.
Her current teacher and aide, Mrs. H and Ms. P, have both worked hard this year to try and get Olivia to use her voice.
While it could very much be Olivia’s maturity and social growth that has brought about this monumental event, I do give Mrs. H and Ms. P credit too.
One day after school and work, Olivia told me that she answered a question from Mrs. H in her normal voice. I asked her what she said and she told me she said, “Yes.”
It was one word but it was said at a normal volume, not a whisper. She said that Mrs. H and Ms. P were the only ones in the classroom with her and so she’d felt comfortable to answer the question.
I high fived her and gave her a hug, exclaiming how proud I was of her and how excited I was for her.
A few days later, she reported that Mrs. H hadn’t been at school that day but at the end of the day, Ms. P had asked Olivia if she’d answer a few questions from her classmates in her normal voice. Olivia agreed to try.
This time there were just two other students in the classroom with O and Ms. P so it wasn’t as if she were ‘performing’ for the entire class. Again, she said she just answered the questions with yes or no or used other one-word answers. But still, this was a big step.
She’s steadily increased the number of words she’ll give as an answer to questions but she’s speaking…out loud…to her teachers and classmates.
The most recent celebration was when she told me she talked to her other aide, Mrs. B. This woman has worked with Olivia since first grade. Olivia said Mrs. B asked her if she could hug her when she (Olivia) spoke aloud to her. Olivia practically preened with pride at this.
I love her team. I love that they’re so proud of her and making her proud of herself. I love that they’ve never once given up on her.
Her teacher recently sent me an email telling me proudly that Olivia spoke out loud to her speech therapist. This is another woman who has worked with Olivia since kindergarten. She’s never been one to give an inch where O is concerned. She’s known all along that Olivia was capable of more than she was giving. She was determined to be more stubborn that Olivia.
We’re getting there. She’s fourteen and still making amazing progress. I don’t think we ever know our true potential. We all have to keep working as hard as we can to do and be better. Let’s all try and be like Olivia, always improving, always getting better, always reaching farther.
She’s my hero, my inspiration.
Wednesday, May 26, 2021
Just Another Vent
I live in a very conservative area of the country. It’s exhausting, actually.
The people who believe the propaganda spewed by our 45th presidents makes me sad and angry and exasperated all at the same time
This little rant is brought to you by a couple of 50+ men talking amongst themselves about ten feet from my desk at work.
One was visiting from an outside company. The other is a co-worker of mine.
Anyway, these two old white dudes were there, co-worker was signing out a company car so they could go to one of our other facilities.
Co-worker noticed Visitor’s mask, which was in his hand not on his face, and said to Visitor, “You can wear that if you want to but you don’t have to.”
Visitor replied, “I hear they make you sick.”
“I’ve heard that too,” Co-worker replied.
Are you fucking kidding me?
In this day and age, do people REALLY believe that WEARING a face mask will make them sick? Why would they think that? Is there any sort of proof that this is the case? Wait, let me google.
Nope, a quick google search shows there is no evidence that wearing a face mask will make you sick and, in fact, there is heavy evidence the wearing a face mask will prevent you from getting sick. So…
Earlier this week, as one of our production employees was clocking out, someone mentioned gas prices going up. I said something about having put gas in my car the previous Friday before work and finding that by 10am that morning, gas had gone from $2.72 to $2.99.
Dude clocking out said something like, “This never happened when T*#@^! Was president.”
I simply said, “Hmmm.”
But come on! We all know that gas prices go up and down regularly. It’s not like gas went down to $.99 when 45 was in office and is suddenly $10 a gallon now that Biden is president.
And yet…these people believe these things. These people, these working class citizens believe that if we raise the minimum wage so that people can, you know, LIVE and not be on the verge of poverty, that somehow that will make THEIR (the working class) lives harder. They believe this and it makes me crazy.
I said something merely in passing within earshot of my step-dad a few weeks ago about how great it had been to go get our Covid vaccinations and not have to pay and I mused about how great it would be if all health care were like that.
Holy shit, I didn’t realize I’d thrown down the gauntlet there. He started going on and on and on about how much we’d pay in taxes if that were the case and how the American people would pay for it one way or the other and on and on and on.
Dude! I was not looking for a debate. I was simply saying how great it would have been a few years ago for me to have fought cancer and NOT worried about bankrupting my family due to the insane cost of medical treatment.
And all this was coming from a man who receives his care free of charge from the VA, which I do not begrudge. He served his time, he deserves to get his medical on the government’s dime. But don’t we all deserve decent care? Why is the cost of insulin so prohibitive that some people have to choose between their medicine and feeding their family? Why do epi-pens cost so freaking much that some people have to forgo them and just pray they don’t come in contact with a tree nut or a bee?
It feels like simple human decency to me.
Women have a right to their own bodies, sick people have a right to the medicines that will make them well. People have a right to make enough money to pay their bills and maybe even start saving for retirement. Is this all really too much too ask? Are they all really such radical, liberal, socialist ideas?
The people who believe the propaganda spewed by our 45th presidents makes me sad and angry and exasperated all at the same time
This little rant is brought to you by a couple of 50+ men talking amongst themselves about ten feet from my desk at work.
One was visiting from an outside company. The other is a co-worker of mine.
Anyway, these two old white dudes were there, co-worker was signing out a company car so they could go to one of our other facilities.
Co-worker noticed Visitor’s mask, which was in his hand not on his face, and said to Visitor, “You can wear that if you want to but you don’t have to.”
Visitor replied, “I hear they make you sick.”
“I’ve heard that too,” Co-worker replied.
Are you fucking kidding me?
In this day and age, do people REALLY believe that WEARING a face mask will make them sick? Why would they think that? Is there any sort of proof that this is the case? Wait, let me google.
Nope, a quick google search shows there is no evidence that wearing a face mask will make you sick and, in fact, there is heavy evidence the wearing a face mask will prevent you from getting sick. So…
Earlier this week, as one of our production employees was clocking out, someone mentioned gas prices going up. I said something about having put gas in my car the previous Friday before work and finding that by 10am that morning, gas had gone from $2.72 to $2.99.
Dude clocking out said something like, “This never happened when T*#@^! Was president.”
I simply said, “Hmmm.”
But come on! We all know that gas prices go up and down regularly. It’s not like gas went down to $.99 when 45 was in office and is suddenly $10 a gallon now that Biden is president.
And yet…these people believe these things. These people, these working class citizens believe that if we raise the minimum wage so that people can, you know, LIVE and not be on the verge of poverty, that somehow that will make THEIR (the working class) lives harder. They believe this and it makes me crazy.
I said something merely in passing within earshot of my step-dad a few weeks ago about how great it had been to go get our Covid vaccinations and not have to pay and I mused about how great it would be if all health care were like that.
Holy shit, I didn’t realize I’d thrown down the gauntlet there. He started going on and on and on about how much we’d pay in taxes if that were the case and how the American people would pay for it one way or the other and on and on and on.
Dude! I was not looking for a debate. I was simply saying how great it would have been a few years ago for me to have fought cancer and NOT worried about bankrupting my family due to the insane cost of medical treatment.
And all this was coming from a man who receives his care free of charge from the VA, which I do not begrudge. He served his time, he deserves to get his medical on the government’s dime. But don’t we all deserve decent care? Why is the cost of insulin so prohibitive that some people have to choose between their medicine and feeding their family? Why do epi-pens cost so freaking much that some people have to forgo them and just pray they don’t come in contact with a tree nut or a bee?
It feels like simple human decency to me.
Women have a right to their own bodies, sick people have a right to the medicines that will make them well. People have a right to make enough money to pay their bills and maybe even start saving for retirement. Is this all really too much too ask? Are they all really such radical, liberal, socialist ideas?
Tuesday, May 25, 2021
"Endearments"
I know I’ve written about women who call everyone ‘hon’ or ‘dear’. And I’m sure at that time I touched on men who do the same thing.
I might even have mentioned how irritating I find it when random dudes call me ‘dear’ or ‘hon’ but the same thing from a woman doesn’t bother me.
I recently had an epiphany as to why that’s the case.
Women who use endearments for people who are not their immediate family do it to everyone. They call the lady next door, the dude checking out at the grocery store, and their nieces and nephews these things. They’ll say, “Thanks, Hon” to anyone and everyone, no matter the age, sex, or relation of the person being spoken to.
Men who use endearments…only use them at women. Dudes do not call other dudes ‘dear’ or ‘darlin’.
I even went so far to confirm with Tom that this is the case. He said that no man has ever called him ‘dear’ in the process of helping him check out at the antique store or while handing him his change at Rural King.
And I know, I KNOW, not all men (don’t @ me) who call women ‘hon’ are creeps but a lot of them are, even if they don’t think they are. They’re using the ‘endearment’, even if subconsciously, because they feel that women are beneath them, more akin to children than to the man himself. And so to call a women ‘dear’ is to remind her that he’s above her and that she’s smaller, less important than he is.
Women, on the other hand, who use endearments, do it across gender/sex lines. They do it because it’s part of their lexicon. Where I’d call someone sir, ma’am, or even dude, these ladies say dear and hon and sweetie.
Men need to stop it, by the way. The need to stop calling women who are not their wives or daughters dear. Stop calling women who are probably smarter than you things that belittle them. Even if you don’t think it does, stop it just in case, mmm’kay?
I might even have mentioned how irritating I find it when random dudes call me ‘dear’ or ‘hon’ but the same thing from a woman doesn’t bother me.
I recently had an epiphany as to why that’s the case.
Women who use endearments for people who are not their immediate family do it to everyone. They call the lady next door, the dude checking out at the grocery store, and their nieces and nephews these things. They’ll say, “Thanks, Hon” to anyone and everyone, no matter the age, sex, or relation of the person being spoken to.
Men who use endearments…only use them at women. Dudes do not call other dudes ‘dear’ or ‘darlin’.
I even went so far to confirm with Tom that this is the case. He said that no man has ever called him ‘dear’ in the process of helping him check out at the antique store or while handing him his change at Rural King.
And I know, I KNOW, not all men (don’t @ me) who call women ‘hon’ are creeps but a lot of them are, even if they don’t think they are. They’re using the ‘endearment’, even if subconsciously, because they feel that women are beneath them, more akin to children than to the man himself. And so to call a women ‘dear’ is to remind her that he’s above her and that she’s smaller, less important than he is.
Women, on the other hand, who use endearments, do it across gender/sex lines. They do it because it’s part of their lexicon. Where I’d call someone sir, ma’am, or even dude, these ladies say dear and hon and sweetie.
Men need to stop it, by the way. The need to stop calling women who are not their wives or daughters dear. Stop calling women who are probably smarter than you things that belittle them. Even if you don’t think it does, stop it just in case, mmm’kay?
Monday, May 24, 2021
Insta-Stupid
I do love me some Instagram. I can spend way too much time browsing the search by or just watching the stories of the people I follow.
However, the ‘sponsored’ posts can sometimes be REALLY annoying. There’s this one particular ‘influencer’ I follow (her kids are adorable and yes, she’s cute too. She’s a little crunchy for me but whatever.) I don’t mind most of her posts. They’re pretty neutral.
But there was one post several months ago that has stuck with me.
She was talking about Reese’s Cups. I know, riveting.
But she started the story with something about how Reese’s cups are her favorite chocolate, which…duh.
But then she went on to stay, “But! I’m REALLY picky about my Reese’s cups. They have to be really fresh.” **Yes, she said these words with as much uppity snootiness as it might seem written out.**
Wait…what?
Fresh?
What the peanut butter chocolaty hell is this?
She talked and gave actual examples of an ‘old’ Reese’s cup and a ‘fresh’ one. The old one broke and the peanut butter was ‘crumbly’. The fresh one wouldn’t even break, because the peanut butter was too soft to break. The paper that came off the old cup was dry. The paper from the ‘fresh’ one was oily…so. Yeah.
OMG. Seriously?
Supposedly her aunt, who knew how picky her dear niece was about her Reese’s, had found a way to get the factory (THE REESES FACTORY, apparently (don’t @ me, I KNOW it’s really the Hershey’s factory, WHATEVER!)) to send this woman Reese’s cups directly to her, cutting out the middle man that is the grocery store.
She never once said this was a sponsored story. She just went on and on about how picky she is about her Reese’s and how important it is to get it fresh from the factory.
I don’t know why this bothered me so much.
Maybe it’s because if I were pickier about my Reese’s I wouldn’t be so fat that I produce my own gravitational pull. I mean, hello, if it says Reese’s it’s probably going to go in my mouth, no matter how old it is.
I don’t even know.
However, the ‘sponsored’ posts can sometimes be REALLY annoying. There’s this one particular ‘influencer’ I follow (her kids are adorable and yes, she’s cute too. She’s a little crunchy for me but whatever.) I don’t mind most of her posts. They’re pretty neutral.
But there was one post several months ago that has stuck with me.
She was talking about Reese’s Cups. I know, riveting.
But she started the story with something about how Reese’s cups are her favorite chocolate, which…duh.
But then she went on to stay, “But! I’m REALLY picky about my Reese’s cups. They have to be really fresh.” **Yes, she said these words with as much uppity snootiness as it might seem written out.**
Wait…what?
Fresh?
What the peanut butter chocolaty hell is this?
She talked and gave actual examples of an ‘old’ Reese’s cup and a ‘fresh’ one. The old one broke and the peanut butter was ‘crumbly’. The fresh one wouldn’t even break, because the peanut butter was too soft to break. The paper that came off the old cup was dry. The paper from the ‘fresh’ one was oily…so. Yeah.
OMG. Seriously?
Supposedly her aunt, who knew how picky her dear niece was about her Reese’s, had found a way to get the factory (THE REESES FACTORY, apparently (don’t @ me, I KNOW it’s really the Hershey’s factory, WHATEVER!)) to send this woman Reese’s cups directly to her, cutting out the middle man that is the grocery store.
She never once said this was a sponsored story. She just went on and on about how picky she is about her Reese’s and how important it is to get it fresh from the factory.
I don’t know why this bothered me so much.
Maybe it’s because if I were pickier about my Reese’s I wouldn’t be so fat that I produce my own gravitational pull. I mean, hello, if it says Reese’s it’s probably going to go in my mouth, no matter how old it is.
I don’t even know.
Saturday, May 22, 2021
Playing Favorites
My mom has never really seemed to have a favorite child. We’ve all known, my brothers and I, that our mother loves us with everything she has.
My girls have never been jealous of each other. I’d like to think that’s because I’ve never played favorites.
This past Mother’s Day was lovely. Tom made me breakfast, Olivia made couple of things at school and wrote the most delightful card.
Alyssa got me a car freshener and put it on top of a note wishing me a happy mother’s day and telling me she loves me. She signed it, “Your favorite.”
Later in the day, Olivia was at the table and she asked me if I’d seen Alyssa’s card.
I acknowledged that I had seen it, that Lyss had left me the nice smelling tree now hanging in my car.
Olivia read the note and laughed at the ‘Your Favorite’ signature.
She sat and pondered for a moment and then said, quite seriously, “I think that if you did have a favorite, it would be me.”
I hope they both always think they’re my favorite. If they think that, I’m doing my job well and for a woman who has constant doubts as to her ability to mother at all, that’s saying a lot.
My girls have never been jealous of each other. I’d like to think that’s because I’ve never played favorites.
This past Mother’s Day was lovely. Tom made me breakfast, Olivia made couple of things at school and wrote the most delightful card.
Alyssa got me a car freshener and put it on top of a note wishing me a happy mother’s day and telling me she loves me. She signed it, “Your favorite.”
Later in the day, Olivia was at the table and she asked me if I’d seen Alyssa’s card.
I acknowledged that I had seen it, that Lyss had left me the nice smelling tree now hanging in my car.
Olivia read the note and laughed at the ‘Your Favorite’ signature.
She sat and pondered for a moment and then said, quite seriously, “I think that if you did have a favorite, it would be me.”
I hope they both always think they’re my favorite. If they think that, I’m doing my job well and for a woman who has constant doubts as to her ability to mother at all, that’s saying a lot.
Friday, May 14, 2021
Teenagers
I have been lucky enough to be able to attend all of Alyssa’s track meets this year. I’m in a job where I can work extra today and take off a little early tomorrow.
One of the benefits of going to the meets is being able to take Alyssa with me when she’s done with her event (she’s only high jumping this year.) After a particularly far away meet, I signed Alyssa and her friend Tessa out of the meet and they rode home with me. For those gasping that I signed out a student who is NOT my child, whatever. I had her mom’s permission.
The ride home was fun. I got to listen to all the teenage gossip and was brought up to speed on all the drama that’s happening between a freshman boy (B) and a junior girl (G.)
See, this freshman boy has a crush on a senior. We won’t name the senior. B, the boy, started dating G, the junior girl after he realized that the senior girl wasn’t going to date him.
Wait, let’s stop here and remind everyone that freshmen in high school are fourteen and fifteen years old. This kid, this BOY, is the same age as Olivia. Let that sink in. He’s fourteen and making a play for a senior who is 19. The junior, G, is eighteen, which is still icky when you’re talking about a fourteen year old.
Anyway, as Lyss and Tess talked, it came about that B tried to break up with G but G didn’t accept his break up. She told him, “No, we’re going to work on this relationship.”
And…he just accepted that.
I was saddened by this. I quickly reminded the girls in my car that it takes two people to make a relationship work and one person to break up. B didn’t have to accept G’s insistence in making the relationship work. He could have walked away, blocked her on all social media, not answered her calls/texts/tweets/chats, etc. But, alas, he fourteen and she’s eighteen and she decided they were going to make it work so apparently they’re ‘making it work.’
Can you even imagine this scenario if the genders were reversed? The ick factor is already high but imagine a fourteen year old girl telling her parents that she’d tried to break up with her eighteen year old boyfriend and he’d told her no. There would be restraining orders and possible arrests and what have you.
I don’t know if B told his parents about trying to break up with G. I don’t know what they know but if I were his mom and I knew the situation, I’d be all over that girl, letting her know that she was not welcome in my son’s life.
Sigh. I wish I could say that B and G looked cute at prom, but they just looked awkward. G was smiling as if nothing was wrong and B just looked out of place and uncomfortable.
Yes, yes, I know. Alyssa was a freshman and N was a junior when they started dating. But Lyss was fifteen and N was seventeen, so…not quite the same thing. And, as far as I know, Lyss never tried to break up with N only to have her breakup denied.
One of the benefits of going to the meets is being able to take Alyssa with me when she’s done with her event (she’s only high jumping this year.) After a particularly far away meet, I signed Alyssa and her friend Tessa out of the meet and they rode home with me. For those gasping that I signed out a student who is NOT my child, whatever. I had her mom’s permission.
The ride home was fun. I got to listen to all the teenage gossip and was brought up to speed on all the drama that’s happening between a freshman boy (B) and a junior girl (G.)
See, this freshman boy has a crush on a senior. We won’t name the senior. B, the boy, started dating G, the junior girl after he realized that the senior girl wasn’t going to date him.
Wait, let’s stop here and remind everyone that freshmen in high school are fourteen and fifteen years old. This kid, this BOY, is the same age as Olivia. Let that sink in. He’s fourteen and making a play for a senior who is 19. The junior, G, is eighteen, which is still icky when you’re talking about a fourteen year old.
Anyway, as Lyss and Tess talked, it came about that B tried to break up with G but G didn’t accept his break up. She told him, “No, we’re going to work on this relationship.”
And…he just accepted that.
I was saddened by this. I quickly reminded the girls in my car that it takes two people to make a relationship work and one person to break up. B didn’t have to accept G’s insistence in making the relationship work. He could have walked away, blocked her on all social media, not answered her calls/texts/tweets/chats, etc. But, alas, he fourteen and she’s eighteen and she decided they were going to make it work so apparently they’re ‘making it work.’
Can you even imagine this scenario if the genders were reversed? The ick factor is already high but imagine a fourteen year old girl telling her parents that she’d tried to break up with her eighteen year old boyfriend and he’d told her no. There would be restraining orders and possible arrests and what have you.
I don’t know if B told his parents about trying to break up with G. I don’t know what they know but if I were his mom and I knew the situation, I’d be all over that girl, letting her know that she was not welcome in my son’s life.
Sigh. I wish I could say that B and G looked cute at prom, but they just looked awkward. G was smiling as if nothing was wrong and B just looked out of place and uncomfortable.
Yes, yes, I know. Alyssa was a freshman and N was a junior when they started dating. But Lyss was fifteen and N was seventeen, so…not quite the same thing. And, as far as I know, Lyss never tried to break up with N only to have her breakup denied.
Thursday, May 13, 2021
Post-Cancer Mindset
There was a time, way back in my teens and twenties and maybe even my thirties that I felt like I was invincible. I felt like I was going to live forever and that I’d always be young and healthy and beautiful.
Then I was diagnosed with cancer when I was 46.
Reality and my own mortality smacked me in the face so hard that it knocked me over.
So yes, my cancer was found very early and I was never actually on the verge of death but hearing the words, “You have cancer,” well, it does something to you, emotionally, mentally, maybe even physically. It’s like a slap, it hits you so hard you can barely breathe.
And once you’ve heard those words, at least once I heard them, I can’t stop thinking that every single twinge, every new pain, every ache and cough is the first sign that the cancer is back, this time with a vengeance that won’t be stopped by mere chemo and radiation.
I recently had a pain on my tongue (gross, sorry) and it hurt like a mother-trucker. My first thought was that it was cancer…yeah, of the tongue. My second thought was to worry I’d have to have surgery to remove my tongue. Would I be able to work if I couldn’t speak? Would the removal of my tongue just be the beginning and after a while, the surgeon would have to go back and remove part of my jaw? Would I have to wear one of those weird plastic half-masks to cover my disfigurement?
All this went through my head in an instant.
What the hell, Brain? Seriously?
I mean, the whole pain on my tongue was probably from eating an entire bag of butter mints over the weekend. Once I’d rinsed my mouth with saltwater and then again a few times with the antibacterial mouthwash the orthodontists gave Olivia for the sore in her mouth, guess what? The pain was pretty much gone.
But for those few hours between the pain manifesting itself and my home remedies, my brain went to the dark place, the place where everything is cancer, everything is leading to my untimely death.
I know that everyone who has faced a serious illness feels this way and we all do what we can to get past it so we can at least enjoy the life we’re lucky enough to still be living.
The moral of this story is to not be a glutton and eat so many butter mints in one sitting that it makes one side of your stupid tongue raw. I might be an idiot.
Then I was diagnosed with cancer when I was 46.
Reality and my own mortality smacked me in the face so hard that it knocked me over.
So yes, my cancer was found very early and I was never actually on the verge of death but hearing the words, “You have cancer,” well, it does something to you, emotionally, mentally, maybe even physically. It’s like a slap, it hits you so hard you can barely breathe.
And once you’ve heard those words, at least once I heard them, I can’t stop thinking that every single twinge, every new pain, every ache and cough is the first sign that the cancer is back, this time with a vengeance that won’t be stopped by mere chemo and radiation.
I recently had a pain on my tongue (gross, sorry) and it hurt like a mother-trucker. My first thought was that it was cancer…yeah, of the tongue. My second thought was to worry I’d have to have surgery to remove my tongue. Would I be able to work if I couldn’t speak? Would the removal of my tongue just be the beginning and after a while, the surgeon would have to go back and remove part of my jaw? Would I have to wear one of those weird plastic half-masks to cover my disfigurement?
All this went through my head in an instant.
What the hell, Brain? Seriously?
I mean, the whole pain on my tongue was probably from eating an entire bag of butter mints over the weekend. Once I’d rinsed my mouth with saltwater and then again a few times with the antibacterial mouthwash the orthodontists gave Olivia for the sore in her mouth, guess what? The pain was pretty much gone.
But for those few hours between the pain manifesting itself and my home remedies, my brain went to the dark place, the place where everything is cancer, everything is leading to my untimely death.
I know that everyone who has faced a serious illness feels this way and we all do what we can to get past it so we can at least enjoy the life we’re lucky enough to still be living.
The moral of this story is to not be a glutton and eat so many butter mints in one sitting that it makes one side of your stupid tongue raw. I might be an idiot.
Wednesday, May 12, 2021
Speeding By
I knew back when Alyssa started her freshman year that her four years of high school would fly by.
I knew that I needed to try and cherish every moment, every band concert, each evening at home watching television with her (at the time, we were engrossed in The Middle and The Goldbergs), very school musical, every track meet, every homecoming dance and every prom.
I knew that the days would drag but the weeks, months and years would sprint past us.
And yet here we are, on the cusp of her high school graduation and I’m looking back and wondering where it all went. We have pictures to prove we lived it all but it seems like just last week she was rehearsing for her role in Shrek and yet that was freshman year.
She’s already pulling away. She has been for months. She basically spent the weekend of prom away from home. And that’s okay. That’s how it should be. But it’s bittersweet for me and Tom. We already miss her and she’s not even truly gone yet.
I want so much for her. I want her to enjoy every minute of her life, not be waiting for the next thing and then the next. I want her to wring the joy and fun out of each experience, to know that this one moment can be the best until the next best moment comes along.
I hope I’ve instilled even a little bit of whimsy in her. I hope she takes time to find the whimsical trees planted beside office buildings and the pleasure of sleeping late. I hope she sees that the world can be so very magical even though there is so much that needs to be changed and fixed.
High school isn’t the best life has to offer but it can be amazing. I think she’s had a good four years. She’s made wonderful friendships, found love, worked hard and played harder…I hope.
We still have years of love and fun ahead of us.
I just wish I could slow things down, even just a little, for her and for me. I want to freeze these moments and step through my magical tree once in a while to revisit the evenings on the couch, the times around the dinner table, the Saturdays at lunch and the moments when she was fourteen and obsessed with Pentatonix. I’d go back to when she was four and pretending to be a horse, or a lion or the little mermaid, just to watch her, to soak her in, her innocence, her beauty, her imagination. I’d preserve some of those precious parts of her and give back to her so she can fall back on them when life gets hard and boring and lackluster. I’d give her those moments back so she can use them to get through adulthood with a little bit of whimsy still inside her.
She’s growing up so fast; too fast. I want to grab her and hug her close and remind her that her entire adult life is ahead of her and she needs to slow down and be a kid for as long as she can. The whole wide world is waiting for her and she’s going to do amazing things in it but she doesn’t have to do them all right now. She can stop for a minute and just remember that little girl who bravely switched schools when she was seven, who made new friends and played Hunger Games with those new friends in 4th grade. She can be the girl who memorized all the members of Pentatonix birthdays and quizzed me regularly to ensure I was paying attention. She can play board games on a Friday night and sleep in on Saturday, hugging her stuffed dog in her sleep.
The world will be there when she’s ready and I know she’s ready now. But maybe I’m not quite there yet.
I knew that I needed to try and cherish every moment, every band concert, each evening at home watching television with her (at the time, we were engrossed in The Middle and The Goldbergs), very school musical, every track meet, every homecoming dance and every prom.
I knew that the days would drag but the weeks, months and years would sprint past us.
And yet here we are, on the cusp of her high school graduation and I’m looking back and wondering where it all went. We have pictures to prove we lived it all but it seems like just last week she was rehearsing for her role in Shrek and yet that was freshman year.
She’s already pulling away. She has been for months. She basically spent the weekend of prom away from home. And that’s okay. That’s how it should be. But it’s bittersweet for me and Tom. We already miss her and she’s not even truly gone yet.
I want so much for her. I want her to enjoy every minute of her life, not be waiting for the next thing and then the next. I want her to wring the joy and fun out of each experience, to know that this one moment can be the best until the next best moment comes along.
I hope I’ve instilled even a little bit of whimsy in her. I hope she takes time to find the whimsical trees planted beside office buildings and the pleasure of sleeping late. I hope she sees that the world can be so very magical even though there is so much that needs to be changed and fixed.
High school isn’t the best life has to offer but it can be amazing. I think she’s had a good four years. She’s made wonderful friendships, found love, worked hard and played harder…I hope.
We still have years of love and fun ahead of us.
I just wish I could slow things down, even just a little, for her and for me. I want to freeze these moments and step through my magical tree once in a while to revisit the evenings on the couch, the times around the dinner table, the Saturdays at lunch and the moments when she was fourteen and obsessed with Pentatonix. I’d go back to when she was four and pretending to be a horse, or a lion or the little mermaid, just to watch her, to soak her in, her innocence, her beauty, her imagination. I’d preserve some of those precious parts of her and give back to her so she can fall back on them when life gets hard and boring and lackluster. I’d give her those moments back so she can use them to get through adulthood with a little bit of whimsy still inside her.
She’s growing up so fast; too fast. I want to grab her and hug her close and remind her that her entire adult life is ahead of her and she needs to slow down and be a kid for as long as she can. The whole wide world is waiting for her and she’s going to do amazing things in it but she doesn’t have to do them all right now. She can stop for a minute and just remember that little girl who bravely switched schools when she was seven, who made new friends and played Hunger Games with those new friends in 4th grade. She can be the girl who memorized all the members of Pentatonix birthdays and quizzed me regularly to ensure I was paying attention. She can play board games on a Friday night and sleep in on Saturday, hugging her stuffed dog in her sleep.
The world will be there when she’s ready and I know she’s ready now. But maybe I’m not quite there yet.
Tuesday, May 11, 2021
A Prom
Prom
We all remember what was happening last year, right? I was at home with my entire family. We were attempting to finish up the school year via Zoom and trying to stay healthy and safe.
This year is different. Many (but not enough) of us are getting vaccinated or are vaccinated and we’re slowly re-emerging into our lives.
The girls have been in school all year. Olivia was quarantined as a close contact once this year, way back in October. Alyssa, somewhat to her own annoyance, was never quarantined. She continued to work, go to school, hang out with a select number of friends (many of whom also worked with her) and basically has lived her life.
And on the first of May, she got to go to her senior prom.
They sort of had a prom last year. If you call getting dressed up, meeting at a nearby hotel, having dinner served by your parents and then getting prizes a prom. I mean, there were no outside guests allowed, only juniors and seniors that attend our school were allowed. If you were lucky enough to be dating either a junior or senior and were a junior or senior yourself, well, hey, you got to go with a date. It was fine. They were all lovely.
But this year…they got to have a ‘real’ prom. They got dressed up, they went to each other’s houses for pictures, the prom was held at the school. The junior moms decorated the gym and there was dinner and dancing in the cafeteria (our school calls it the ‘auditoria’ which is stupid and I won’t use that word other than to point out that it’s stupid.)
Olivia was a little worried on Thursday about where she’d each lunch because the cafeteria had been overtaken by the juniors and seniors for prom.
After the ‘social hour’, during which family and friends could come (if they had a ticket because there’s still a pandemic out there) and sit in the bleachers in the gym and each couple would be announced and proceed around the gym, stopping at three different points for pictures.
It was cute.
And fun.
And the senior class, because they’re lovely people, voted the exchange student the prom queen this year. She’s so sweet and fun and I’m so happy for her. She’s from Italy and I hope that her ‘abroad’ experience hasn’t been too awful, seeing as she’s stuck in freaking Edon, Ohio, population 850+ give or take 10. Talk about a disappointment.
But like I said, she’s fun and seems to be making the best of her “American” experience. She was a cheerleader for football and basketball. She had a supporting lead role in the musical. She’s running track and just putting herself out there. It’s more than I can say I did my senior year and I was still in the same school I’d started at when I was five. So…perspective.
I feel for the seniors of 2020 who missed out on all of this. I know most of them have moved on and sure, they have quite the story to tell but it still sucks. They’ll never get their high school senior year back. And I feel for the parents of those seniors. They missed out on so much too.
This year is different. Many (but not enough) of us are getting vaccinated or are vaccinated and we’re slowly re-emerging into our lives.
The girls have been in school all year. Olivia was quarantined as a close contact once this year, way back in October. Alyssa, somewhat to her own annoyance, was never quarantined. She continued to work, go to school, hang out with a select number of friends (many of whom also worked with her) and basically has lived her life.
And on the first of May, she got to go to her senior prom.
They sort of had a prom last year. If you call getting dressed up, meeting at a nearby hotel, having dinner served by your parents and then getting prizes a prom. I mean, there were no outside guests allowed, only juniors and seniors that attend our school were allowed. If you were lucky enough to be dating either a junior or senior and were a junior or senior yourself, well, hey, you got to go with a date. It was fine. They were all lovely.
But this year…they got to have a ‘real’ prom. They got dressed up, they went to each other’s houses for pictures, the prom was held at the school. The junior moms decorated the gym and there was dinner and dancing in the cafeteria (our school calls it the ‘auditoria’ which is stupid and I won’t use that word other than to point out that it’s stupid.)
Olivia was a little worried on Thursday about where she’d each lunch because the cafeteria had been overtaken by the juniors and seniors for prom.
After the ‘social hour’, during which family and friends could come (if they had a ticket because there’s still a pandemic out there) and sit in the bleachers in the gym and each couple would be announced and proceed around the gym, stopping at three different points for pictures.
It was cute.
And fun.
And the senior class, because they’re lovely people, voted the exchange student the prom queen this year. She’s so sweet and fun and I’m so happy for her. She’s from Italy and I hope that her ‘abroad’ experience hasn’t been too awful, seeing as she’s stuck in freaking Edon, Ohio, population 850+ give or take 10. Talk about a disappointment.
But like I said, she’s fun and seems to be making the best of her “American” experience. She was a cheerleader for football and basketball. She had a supporting lead role in the musical. She’s running track and just putting herself out there. It’s more than I can say I did my senior year and I was still in the same school I’d started at when I was five. So…perspective.
I feel for the seniors of 2020 who missed out on all of this. I know most of them have moved on and sure, they have quite the story to tell but it still sucks. They’ll never get their high school senior year back. And I feel for the parents of those seniors. They missed out on so much too.
Monday, May 10, 2021
Borrowing Trouble?
Okay, so here’s the thing:
I come from a redneck, conservative family. Yes, it’s as annoying as you might think.
Alyssa is out. She is in no way in the closet. She and Naomi have been together for over three years.
I’ve posted pictures of every single prom they’ve gone to on all the social media platforms I have.
And yet…I’m pretty sure most of my extended family (as well as immediate, such as brothers, who can be assholes) does not know she’s gay.
I don’t care if they know. I don’t care if they bury their heads forever and pretend they don’t know what they know. It’s not my story to tell and so I haven’t bother to make any kind of announcement. If someone were to ask, Alyssa has given me permission to answer.
But!
Her graduation party is in just over a month. Naomi will be there, as she should be. This is a big day for Alyssa and Naomi is a huge part of her life.
I never, ever want Alyssa to hide any part of who she is. I am proud of her, every single part of her. I think she’s amazing and I want the world to see her.
I don’t think anyone will be weird at the party. I hope they won’t.
Do I mention to Alyssa that people might be weird? Do I prepare her for potential weirdness just so she and Naomi aren’t blindsided if there is weirdness or do I go into this with the expectation that everyone will be on their best behavior?
I mean, who am I kidding, right? People are jerks all the damn time, even to people they claim to love.
But I don’t want to borrow trouble. There might not even be trouble. Though I’ve mentioned that an aunt has been a royal jerk a few years ago when relating a story about some lesbians their family lived next door to a thousand years ago, right? This aunt has VERY strong feelings about those particular lesbians which has, unfortunately, colored her feelings on all lesbians forever and ever and always, thank you very much.
Ick.
The one time we talked about this (at Auntie’s salon) I tried to gently point out that just because she felt a strong ick factor from those particular women, it didn’t mean that all women who are gay are creepy or inappropriate with children. I reminded Auntie that there have been men who, since the beginning of time, have treated women and children badly but that didn’t mean that ALL men (ugh, ‘not all men’) are bad, misogynistic, rapists, abusers, pedophiles, etc. Sadly, I don’t think she got what I was saying or, you know, she didn’t want to hear it.
Alyssa is unwilling to spend any amount of time at this aunt’s house these days and I do not blame her even a little. Olivia and I still go with my mom because Auntie lives on a lake and so her place is lovely and wonderful in the summer for all kinds of summer fun. But we try and be as un-political as possible. And yes, I know this is probably not the best stance and ask me after the party whether Liv and I will be going back to her house.
So. Will Auntie be a bitch? Will my brothers be assholes? Will everyone just let it be a nice, celebratory day for Alyssa and not be dicks? Do we even care what other people think?
And wait, if anyone DOES say something, will I react like a boss and shut that shit down? Damn, I hope so.
I guess we’ll see.
P.S. I’m honestly not worried about Tom’s side of the family at all. First, he has a niece who married a lovely young woman a few years ago (sadly, niece’s wife died about six or so months ago…) and so his family seems to understand that we are living in different, better times and if you don’t like the way others live and they’re not living in a way that’s hurting anyone else, you should just keep your yap shut.
I come from a redneck, conservative family. Yes, it’s as annoying as you might think.
Alyssa is out. She is in no way in the closet. She and Naomi have been together for over three years.
I’ve posted pictures of every single prom they’ve gone to on all the social media platforms I have.
And yet…I’m pretty sure most of my extended family (as well as immediate, such as brothers, who can be assholes) does not know she’s gay.
I don’t care if they know. I don’t care if they bury their heads forever and pretend they don’t know what they know. It’s not my story to tell and so I haven’t bother to make any kind of announcement. If someone were to ask, Alyssa has given me permission to answer.
But!
Her graduation party is in just over a month. Naomi will be there, as she should be. This is a big day for Alyssa and Naomi is a huge part of her life.
I never, ever want Alyssa to hide any part of who she is. I am proud of her, every single part of her. I think she’s amazing and I want the world to see her.
I don’t think anyone will be weird at the party. I hope they won’t.
Do I mention to Alyssa that people might be weird? Do I prepare her for potential weirdness just so she and Naomi aren’t blindsided if there is weirdness or do I go into this with the expectation that everyone will be on their best behavior?
I mean, who am I kidding, right? People are jerks all the damn time, even to people they claim to love.
But I don’t want to borrow trouble. There might not even be trouble. Though I’ve mentioned that an aunt has been a royal jerk a few years ago when relating a story about some lesbians their family lived next door to a thousand years ago, right? This aunt has VERY strong feelings about those particular lesbians which has, unfortunately, colored her feelings on all lesbians forever and ever and always, thank you very much.
Ick.
The one time we talked about this (at Auntie’s salon) I tried to gently point out that just because she felt a strong ick factor from those particular women, it didn’t mean that all women who are gay are creepy or inappropriate with children. I reminded Auntie that there have been men who, since the beginning of time, have treated women and children badly but that didn’t mean that ALL men (ugh, ‘not all men’) are bad, misogynistic, rapists, abusers, pedophiles, etc. Sadly, I don’t think she got what I was saying or, you know, she didn’t want to hear it.
Alyssa is unwilling to spend any amount of time at this aunt’s house these days and I do not blame her even a little. Olivia and I still go with my mom because Auntie lives on a lake and so her place is lovely and wonderful in the summer for all kinds of summer fun. But we try and be as un-political as possible. And yes, I know this is probably not the best stance and ask me after the party whether Liv and I will be going back to her house.
So. Will Auntie be a bitch? Will my brothers be assholes? Will everyone just let it be a nice, celebratory day for Alyssa and not be dicks? Do we even care what other people think?
And wait, if anyone DOES say something, will I react like a boss and shut that shit down? Damn, I hope so.
I guess we’ll see.
P.S. I’m honestly not worried about Tom’s side of the family at all. First, he has a niece who married a lovely young woman a few years ago (sadly, niece’s wife died about six or so months ago…) and so his family seems to understand that we are living in different, better times and if you don’t like the way others live and they’re not living in a way that’s hurting anyone else, you should just keep your yap shut.
Friday, May 7, 2021
They Win
Fine. Whatever. I give up. They win.
I mean, we all knew they would, right? It was two against one so the odds were not in my favor.
I called the person in charge of the community building Tom wanted to rent for Alyssa’s graduation party.
The building was available the week after graduation. She said that it wasn’t nearly as busy as it’s been in past years. She wondered if there weren’t as many kids graduating.
I suggested that parents are waiting to see what happens in Ohio as far as large gatherings go before scheduling/renting space goes.
Anyway, I reserved the space. But I left Tom with a list of things he had to do in order to actually use the space.
See, he has to call our insurance agent and get her to email the township secretary with our policy number and proof that we have ‘event insurance’ for this. And it has to be up to $300,000 worth of insurance.
So that’s his first job.
Then, after we get the paperwork from said secretary, he has to write two checks, one for $130 (the cost of renting the building) and one for $100, which we’ll get back as long as we leave the space in the same condition we found it. That’s the price he has to pay to not have to clean our house and have the party there. I think he feels like he’s getting a bargain.
And finally, the day of the event, he has to help me schlep all the food/decorations/beverages/anything else I can think of the four-ish miles from our house to the community building. And he has to stay the entire time of the open house and then help clean up and take everything home.
It’s not asking too much. I mean, she’s his child too, he should be there whether or not I need help with anything or not.
I mean, we all knew they would, right? It was two against one so the odds were not in my favor.
I called the person in charge of the community building Tom wanted to rent for Alyssa’s graduation party.
The building was available the week after graduation. She said that it wasn’t nearly as busy as it’s been in past years. She wondered if there weren’t as many kids graduating.
I suggested that parents are waiting to see what happens in Ohio as far as large gatherings go before scheduling/renting space goes.
Anyway, I reserved the space. But I left Tom with a list of things he had to do in order to actually use the space.
See, he has to call our insurance agent and get her to email the township secretary with our policy number and proof that we have ‘event insurance’ for this. And it has to be up to $300,000 worth of insurance.
So that’s his first job.
Then, after we get the paperwork from said secretary, he has to write two checks, one for $130 (the cost of renting the building) and one for $100, which we’ll get back as long as we leave the space in the same condition we found it. That’s the price he has to pay to not have to clean our house and have the party there. I think he feels like he’s getting a bargain.
And finally, the day of the event, he has to help me schlep all the food/decorations/beverages/anything else I can think of the four-ish miles from our house to the community building. And he has to stay the entire time of the open house and then help clean up and take everything home.
It’s not asking too much. I mean, she’s his child too, he should be there whether or not I need help with anything or not.
Thursday, May 6, 2021
Attitude
Well.
Once upon a Tuesday evening, there was a home track meet. Tom and Olivia joined me at the track to watch Alyssa do the high jump (she came in 4th) and bask in the lovely weather we were having that day.
It was a day in which the temperature rose to the low 80s. So it was lovely, if a little warm for the runners.
The high jump took a long time because girls kept having to go off and run races then come back and jump and round and round they went.
Finally it was over and Alyssa joined us outside the fence that circles the track. She informed me and Tom that there was some sort of ‘senior night’ going on. At that point, Olivia collapsed into a puddle of despair. She was hot and tired and bored and hungry.
My mother took pity on us all and offered to take Liv to her house while Tom and I waited with Lyss at the track for whatever senior thing was happening.
Tom and I found a seat in the shade while Alyssa stood at the fence and watched the races. It was fine.
But then she got bored too. She came over to where we were sitting and said she was ready to go. She hasn’t actually heard about anything for the seniors from anyone official, just from her best friend. So the three of us left, Tom and Lyss for home and I headed to my mom’s to get Olivia.
I offered to ‘let’ Tom go get her but he declared with a smirk that we all know that Olivia wants me. Ha. Sure, she does. He was just saying that to get out of having to go get her. I mean, okay, yes, if he were to show up to pick her up, her first question would be, “Where’s Mom?”
But should that stop him from being the one to pick her up? No, it should not. Of course, she was at MY mom’s house, so there’s that too but still…
So I got to my mom’s house and they were surprised to see me so early. Olivia had just started eating some broccoli. She’d just finished a bowl of pineapple with whipped cream. (It’s a Gram thing, that sort of thing never occurs to me.) She ate two bowls of broccoli while I was there.
We finally got home and Tom had pizza ready. It was about 7:15. It was thoughtful of him to make pizza.
He informed Olivia her pizza was ready. I told him she’d eaten broccoli and pineapple at Gram’s, hoping it would soften him toward her eating all the pizza he was putting in front of her.
It didn’t.
She didn’t complain, so she must have still been hungry.
I gathered O’s homework so that we could get through it after she ate.
Tom asked me why I wasn’t eating.
I told him I would eat after homework was done.
I must have replied with a snippy tone because he gave me a look and asked me what I was giving him attitude.
Excuse me? Attitude? Are you kidding me?
I sighed and tried not to cry and informed him that I simply wanted to get homework out of the way before I could eat.
But seriously, attitude? What am I, one of the kids?
He left the room and I felt the stress of the day press down on me. What the hell just happened?
He came back to the kitchen and heated up O’s pizza because she can’t stand to eat anything that is cooler than the temperature on the surface of the sun.
She ate and I organized her homework.
But it felt like the entire evening was off. We were all tired from being in the heat and the sun. We’re used to frigid temperatures and this sudden summer heat was too much for our delicate systems to take.
In the end it was fine. Homework was finished, pizza was eaten, and everyone finally went to bed and slept off the stress and attitude of the day.
Once upon a Tuesday evening, there was a home track meet. Tom and Olivia joined me at the track to watch Alyssa do the high jump (she came in 4th) and bask in the lovely weather we were having that day.
It was a day in which the temperature rose to the low 80s. So it was lovely, if a little warm for the runners.
The high jump took a long time because girls kept having to go off and run races then come back and jump and round and round they went.
Finally it was over and Alyssa joined us outside the fence that circles the track. She informed me and Tom that there was some sort of ‘senior night’ going on. At that point, Olivia collapsed into a puddle of despair. She was hot and tired and bored and hungry.
My mother took pity on us all and offered to take Liv to her house while Tom and I waited with Lyss at the track for whatever senior thing was happening.
Tom and I found a seat in the shade while Alyssa stood at the fence and watched the races. It was fine.
But then she got bored too. She came over to where we were sitting and said she was ready to go. She hasn’t actually heard about anything for the seniors from anyone official, just from her best friend. So the three of us left, Tom and Lyss for home and I headed to my mom’s to get Olivia.
I offered to ‘let’ Tom go get her but he declared with a smirk that we all know that Olivia wants me. Ha. Sure, she does. He was just saying that to get out of having to go get her. I mean, okay, yes, if he were to show up to pick her up, her first question would be, “Where’s Mom?”
But should that stop him from being the one to pick her up? No, it should not. Of course, she was at MY mom’s house, so there’s that too but still…
So I got to my mom’s house and they were surprised to see me so early. Olivia had just started eating some broccoli. She’d just finished a bowl of pineapple with whipped cream. (It’s a Gram thing, that sort of thing never occurs to me.) She ate two bowls of broccoli while I was there.
We finally got home and Tom had pizza ready. It was about 7:15. It was thoughtful of him to make pizza.
He informed Olivia her pizza was ready. I told him she’d eaten broccoli and pineapple at Gram’s, hoping it would soften him toward her eating all the pizza he was putting in front of her.
It didn’t.
She didn’t complain, so she must have still been hungry.
I gathered O’s homework so that we could get through it after she ate.
Tom asked me why I wasn’t eating.
I told him I would eat after homework was done.
I must have replied with a snippy tone because he gave me a look and asked me what I was giving him attitude.
Excuse me? Attitude? Are you kidding me?
I sighed and tried not to cry and informed him that I simply wanted to get homework out of the way before I could eat.
But seriously, attitude? What am I, one of the kids?
He left the room and I felt the stress of the day press down on me. What the hell just happened?
He came back to the kitchen and heated up O’s pizza because she can’t stand to eat anything that is cooler than the temperature on the surface of the sun.
She ate and I organized her homework.
But it felt like the entire evening was off. We were all tired from being in the heat and the sun. We’re used to frigid temperatures and this sudden summer heat was too much for our delicate systems to take.
In the end it was fine. Homework was finished, pizza was eaten, and everyone finally went to bed and slept off the stress and attitude of the day.
Wednesday, May 5, 2021
This or That
Graduation is coming up. It’s speeding upon us at lightning speed, actually. May 30th is the day. So…what do we do about celebrating?
We’re all (well, most of us) vaccinated so let’s PARTY! Right?
Okay, but where?
I want to have it at our house. It’ll be fun to have people in and out. We have a huge side yard and a decent back yard. We have a big back deck and a cement pad-thingy we can put tables on and a tent over and set up chairs at various locations in the yards.
Tom does NOT want to have it at home. He claims his main reason is because people will come and just stay for hours.
This will be an open-house, so come, leave a card with cash/check for Lyss, eat some food and be on your merry way, right?
No, he’s just sure they’ll pop a squat and stay for the duration.
Honestly, I think his biggest concern is having to clean. I’m telling you this, not as a complaint but simply to provide information. 40% of our house is taken up by ebay stuff. That’s not including the basement. If I include the basement, it’s more like 60% of the house is ebay storage. So…there’s that.
Alyssa wants to have it at my mom’s. She insists that Gram’s house has better parking and more shade. Whatever. We have plenty of parking and we can set up tents to provide shade…so yeah.
So what do we do? I informed Lyss that if she wants to have it at her Gram’s, SHE has to ask Gram and Pawp if they’re okay with it and if they show even the slightest hesitation, we’re NOT doing it there.
Before Alyssa could even ask my mom, I called a community center and asked about reservations. Alyssa insisted that it was WAY too late to do this.
Well, they have the building available the weekend after graduation, which is actually pretty good, right?
It will be $135 dollars for the rental but only because my mom lives in the township. If she didn’t, it would be $170. We will have to send them a separate check of $100 for a security deposit and provide proof of ‘event insurance.’
Those things are Tom’s job. I’ve done the work of making the phone call. He can call our insurance and send the checks. We’ll see which process feels more stressfull to him, calling about insurance and writing checks or cleaning.
More details to follow.
We’re all (well, most of us) vaccinated so let’s PARTY! Right?
Okay, but where?
I want to have it at our house. It’ll be fun to have people in and out. We have a huge side yard and a decent back yard. We have a big back deck and a cement pad-thingy we can put tables on and a tent over and set up chairs at various locations in the yards.
Tom does NOT want to have it at home. He claims his main reason is because people will come and just stay for hours.
This will be an open-house, so come, leave a card with cash/check for Lyss, eat some food and be on your merry way, right?
No, he’s just sure they’ll pop a squat and stay for the duration.
Honestly, I think his biggest concern is having to clean. I’m telling you this, not as a complaint but simply to provide information. 40% of our house is taken up by ebay stuff. That’s not including the basement. If I include the basement, it’s more like 60% of the house is ebay storage. So…there’s that.
Alyssa wants to have it at my mom’s. She insists that Gram’s house has better parking and more shade. Whatever. We have plenty of parking and we can set up tents to provide shade…so yeah.
So what do we do? I informed Lyss that if she wants to have it at her Gram’s, SHE has to ask Gram and Pawp if they’re okay with it and if they show even the slightest hesitation, we’re NOT doing it there.
Before Alyssa could even ask my mom, I called a community center and asked about reservations. Alyssa insisted that it was WAY too late to do this.
Well, they have the building available the weekend after graduation, which is actually pretty good, right?
It will be $135 dollars for the rental but only because my mom lives in the township. If she didn’t, it would be $170. We will have to send them a separate check of $100 for a security deposit and provide proof of ‘event insurance.’
Those things are Tom’s job. I’ve done the work of making the phone call. He can call our insurance and send the checks. We’ll see which process feels more stressfull to him, calling about insurance and writing checks or cleaning.
More details to follow.
Tuesday, May 4, 2021
Too Much of a Good Thing
Tom is VERY good to me. I fully admit that and am ever so grateful. I’m mean, the dude drove 18 miles on way recently to put air in my tire after my car alerted me that one of my tires was low. So there that.
But if that man does not stop putting two cuties a day in my lunch bag, I’m going to start throwing said cuties at his head.
Ahem.
Sorry.
Remember way back when I was pregnant with Alyssa and was diagnosed with gestational diabetes? No? Well, it happened.
And once I got that diagnosis, I saw a dietitian who gave me a bunch of charts and colorful diagrams of things I should be eating.
Tom took those charts and ran with them. He packed my lunch every day for almost twelve weeks. It was very sweet of him.
But he sent me way too much food. Every single day, I would open my lunch and be overwhelmed by how much food was there. It was all very healthy food (the bananas were a nice touch since he KNEW I wouldn’t touch those things if they were the last food on earth) but there was too much of it.
So, after being gently scolded the first couple of days for not eating all my food, I simply started chucking food (all biodegradable, I’m not a litterer) out the car window as I drove home each evening.
Uneaten peach? Out the window. (For what it’s worth, I do not eat peaches as one might eat an apple. The fuzz is a no-go for me.) A huge hoagie bun? Chucked out that window so fast. Hey, it would be a nice treat for some wild animal. You’re welcome, Bambi.
I just couldn’t deal with the food and I also didn’t want to deal with the mild looks of disappointment thrown my way when my loving husband took in what I’d eaten, and more importantly, what I hadn’t eaten that day.
So…it’s a long-running issue for us. He wants to take care of me and ‘feeding’ me is one of his love languages. I get that. I am also a grown-ass adult who can figure out my own food, thank you very much. So these days, I’m taking those stupid cuties to work and offering them to anyone and everyone who walks past my desk. And when they start to get a little wrinkled, into the trash they go.
Is it a waste? Yes. But it’s also not worth the ‘discussion’ we would have to have it I went home and said, as gently as possible, “I love you. And I love that you take such good care of me but enough with the cuties!”
Okay, I could probably word it differently but you know what? I hate confrontation so, so much. I hate confrontation almost as much as I hate bananas and milk. Over those things, I will confront the hell out of you. But cuties aren’t worth the stress and so…I’m drowning in cuties over here.
But if that man does not stop putting two cuties a day in my lunch bag, I’m going to start throwing said cuties at his head.
Ahem.
Sorry.
Remember way back when I was pregnant with Alyssa and was diagnosed with gestational diabetes? No? Well, it happened.
And once I got that diagnosis, I saw a dietitian who gave me a bunch of charts and colorful diagrams of things I should be eating.
Tom took those charts and ran with them. He packed my lunch every day for almost twelve weeks. It was very sweet of him.
But he sent me way too much food. Every single day, I would open my lunch and be overwhelmed by how much food was there. It was all very healthy food (the bananas were a nice touch since he KNEW I wouldn’t touch those things if they were the last food on earth) but there was too much of it.
So, after being gently scolded the first couple of days for not eating all my food, I simply started chucking food (all biodegradable, I’m not a litterer) out the car window as I drove home each evening.
Uneaten peach? Out the window. (For what it’s worth, I do not eat peaches as one might eat an apple. The fuzz is a no-go for me.) A huge hoagie bun? Chucked out that window so fast. Hey, it would be a nice treat for some wild animal. You’re welcome, Bambi.
I just couldn’t deal with the food and I also didn’t want to deal with the mild looks of disappointment thrown my way when my loving husband took in what I’d eaten, and more importantly, what I hadn’t eaten that day.
So…it’s a long-running issue for us. He wants to take care of me and ‘feeding’ me is one of his love languages. I get that. I am also a grown-ass adult who can figure out my own food, thank you very much. So these days, I’m taking those stupid cuties to work and offering them to anyone and everyone who walks past my desk. And when they start to get a little wrinkled, into the trash they go.
Is it a waste? Yes. But it’s also not worth the ‘discussion’ we would have to have it I went home and said, as gently as possible, “I love you. And I love that you take such good care of me but enough with the cuties!”
Okay, I could probably word it differently but you know what? I hate confrontation so, so much. I hate confrontation almost as much as I hate bananas and milk. Over those things, I will confront the hell out of you. But cuties aren’t worth the stress and so…I’m drowning in cuties over here.
Monday, May 3, 2021
Oh Hell
So Travis the turtle is a very bad influence on Olivia. We’ve established that and I’m trying to curb Travis’s naughtiness in an effort to model good behavior for Olivia.
I can’t say it’s working extremely well but we can’t break bad habits in a single day so…the work goes on.
At that orthodontist appointment that we thought I had wrong but that I’d actually had right, they decided it was time for Olivia to wear rubber bands.
Guess what that means?
Yes, it means I get to stick my fingers in her mouth every single day for the next six weeks. Yay!!
And poor Alyssa has to do it when I’m not there because Tom insists that his fingers are too fat and he can’t see well enough. Sigh.
I wore rubber bands back when I had braces. Alyssa wore them too. We know what we’re doing and it’s fine. But you know what? I wish Olivia had the confidence to at least TRY to put them in herself. Alas…she’s very sure that she’s simply not capable. And she would rather DIE than stick her own fingers in her mouth. Which is…weird and annoying but, well, it’s also life around here.
So whatever.
But the best part of that entire day (other than finding out I was right when I’d thought I was wrong) was when Olivia announced at the end of the evening that the first thing she thought when she heard the orthodontic tech say it was time for O to start wearing rubber bands was: “Oh, hell.”
She said it so mildly and it was so appropriate to the situation that I couldn’t help but laugh.
Alyssa rolled her eyes at my laughter because, well, when she was 14 she’d never had uttered such a word in my presence. So that’s another case of first born and last born behavior that fits all the stereotypes.
I can’t say it’s working extremely well but we can’t break bad habits in a single day so…the work goes on.
At that orthodontist appointment that we thought I had wrong but that I’d actually had right, they decided it was time for Olivia to wear rubber bands.
Guess what that means?
Yes, it means I get to stick my fingers in her mouth every single day for the next six weeks. Yay!!
And poor Alyssa has to do it when I’m not there because Tom insists that his fingers are too fat and he can’t see well enough. Sigh.
I wore rubber bands back when I had braces. Alyssa wore them too. We know what we’re doing and it’s fine. But you know what? I wish Olivia had the confidence to at least TRY to put them in herself. Alas…she’s very sure that she’s simply not capable. And she would rather DIE than stick her own fingers in her mouth. Which is…weird and annoying but, well, it’s also life around here.
So whatever.
But the best part of that entire day (other than finding out I was right when I’d thought I was wrong) was when Olivia announced at the end of the evening that the first thing she thought when she heard the orthodontic tech say it was time for O to start wearing rubber bands was: “Oh, hell.”
She said it so mildly and it was so appropriate to the situation that I couldn’t help but laugh.
Alyssa rolled her eyes at my laughter because, well, when she was 14 she’d never had uttered such a word in my presence. So that’s another case of first born and last born behavior that fits all the stereotypes.
Saturday, May 1, 2021
That One Time I Thought I was Wrong but it Turned Out I was Right
Once upon a time on a Tuesday, Alyssa had a track meet and Olivia had an orthodontist appointment. A’s track meet was to start at 4:30 in a town about 40 minutes from work.
O’s orthodontist appointment was scheduled for 4pm, which, on a typical day, would give her and Tom plenty of time to get to the appointment where I would meet them and take her to the appointment. Tom would take himself…somewhere else.
It works.
Except for those days when I need to be somewhere else, like at a track meet.
So the weekend before this fateful Tuesday, I asked Tom very sweetly if he’d do me a favor. I asked if he’d stay with Olivia for her orthodontist appointment while I made my way to Montpelier for the track meet.
He agreed, though a bit reluctantly. Or rather, he was reluctant until I offered to let him go to the track meet instead. Then he decided an orthodontist appointment didn’t sound so bad. I didn’t mention that he’d need to go through the KFC drive-thru after the appointment because it’s just what we do. His fear of the drive-thru is well documented and may have altered his choice of parental assignment.
Alas, as luck and mother nature would have it, we were hit with a cold front and a ton of snow (it was April 20th for those keeping track.)
The track meet was canceled so I met Tom and Olivia at the orthodontist for her appointment and sent him on his merry way.
Thank you LORD that I was able to send him on his way. If he’d gone into that office and been told what I was told, that man would have been livid.
See, we walked in and I told the receptionist that Olivia was there for her 4:00. The receptionist did her thing and said, “Um, I don’t see her on the scheduled.’
Now, anyone who knows me KNOWS I mess things up. I do. I can’t seem to help it. I mean, hello, I showed up for a party in Indianapolis a week early. A WEEK!
So I said, “But I got the email.”
The ladies at the front desk asked if I had my phone with me.
Duh. Of course I did. I pulled it out and there it was, the email reminding us of Olivia’s appointment at 4pm on…Monday, April 19.
Damn it.
They were kind enough to fit her in (thank goodness there had been a cancellation and her appointment was only 20 minutes long) and after her appointment we got KFC chicken for Lyss and Liv (and I encountered nary an issue with the drive-thru) and made our way home. I was going to get Crazy Bread from Little Caesars (it’s in the same business complex as the orthodontist) but I decided since I’d screwed up the appointment I wasn’t allowed to be rewarded with the deliciousness that is Crazy Bread. Sigh. Adulting sucks.
When we got home, I confessed my mistake to Tom only because I know that Olivia, that sweet darling little shit, is unable to keep a secret to save her life, would have told him everything the first chance she got.
He gave me a look that said something along the lines of, “You’re an idiot.”
Or, maybe he didn’t. I could very well have read that on his face when it wasn’t there at all. It happens.
But then he asked, “But how could you have done that?”
I rolled my eyes and asked him, “Have you met me?”
Then we decided to check it out because I’ve gotten less flakey in my middle-aged years than I was even a few years ago.
And look at that, there on the corkboard affixed to the basement door was the slip that orthodontist’s office had given us at her last appointment: OLIVIA ORDINARY, NEXT APPOINTMENT, TUESDAY, APRIL 20 AT 4:00PM.
OMG I’d given up the special treat that is Crazy Bread for nothing.
I’d just meekly accepted that I’d been wrong but I hadn’t been wrong! I hadn’t written the date wrong on my calendar at work. I hadn’t remembered incorrectly.
Of course, if I’d bothered to read the reminder email I could have called them to find out why they were reminding me of an appointment that was a day later according the slip THEY’D GIVEN ME! So yes, in future days, I will read the reminder emails more carefully.
But the real moral of this story is to NOT deny yourself Crazy Bread for a mistake that is probably not even your mistake. Because hello, even though I thought I was wrong…it turns out I was not wrong. Or at least I was not as wrong as I’d first thought and even if I’d been all the way wrong, that’s not really a reason to deny myself Crazy Bread.
O’s orthodontist appointment was scheduled for 4pm, which, on a typical day, would give her and Tom plenty of time to get to the appointment where I would meet them and take her to the appointment. Tom would take himself…somewhere else.
It works.
Except for those days when I need to be somewhere else, like at a track meet.
So the weekend before this fateful Tuesday, I asked Tom very sweetly if he’d do me a favor. I asked if he’d stay with Olivia for her orthodontist appointment while I made my way to Montpelier for the track meet.
He agreed, though a bit reluctantly. Or rather, he was reluctant until I offered to let him go to the track meet instead. Then he decided an orthodontist appointment didn’t sound so bad. I didn’t mention that he’d need to go through the KFC drive-thru after the appointment because it’s just what we do. His fear of the drive-thru is well documented and may have altered his choice of parental assignment.
Alas, as luck and mother nature would have it, we were hit with a cold front and a ton of snow (it was April 20th for those keeping track.)
The track meet was canceled so I met Tom and Olivia at the orthodontist for her appointment and sent him on his merry way.
Thank you LORD that I was able to send him on his way. If he’d gone into that office and been told what I was told, that man would have been livid.
See, we walked in and I told the receptionist that Olivia was there for her 4:00. The receptionist did her thing and said, “Um, I don’t see her on the scheduled.’
Now, anyone who knows me KNOWS I mess things up. I do. I can’t seem to help it. I mean, hello, I showed up for a party in Indianapolis a week early. A WEEK!
So I said, “But I got the email.”
The ladies at the front desk asked if I had my phone with me.
Duh. Of course I did. I pulled it out and there it was, the email reminding us of Olivia’s appointment at 4pm on…Monday, April 19.
Damn it.
They were kind enough to fit her in (thank goodness there had been a cancellation and her appointment was only 20 minutes long) and after her appointment we got KFC chicken for Lyss and Liv (and I encountered nary an issue with the drive-thru) and made our way home. I was going to get Crazy Bread from Little Caesars (it’s in the same business complex as the orthodontist) but I decided since I’d screwed up the appointment I wasn’t allowed to be rewarded with the deliciousness that is Crazy Bread. Sigh. Adulting sucks.
When we got home, I confessed my mistake to Tom only because I know that Olivia, that sweet darling little shit, is unable to keep a secret to save her life, would have told him everything the first chance she got.
He gave me a look that said something along the lines of, “You’re an idiot.”
Or, maybe he didn’t. I could very well have read that on his face when it wasn’t there at all. It happens.
But then he asked, “But how could you have done that?”
I rolled my eyes and asked him, “Have you met me?”
Then we decided to check it out because I’ve gotten less flakey in my middle-aged years than I was even a few years ago.
And look at that, there on the corkboard affixed to the basement door was the slip that orthodontist’s office had given us at her last appointment: OLIVIA ORDINARY, NEXT APPOINTMENT, TUESDAY, APRIL 20 AT 4:00PM.
OMG I’d given up the special treat that is Crazy Bread for nothing.
I’d just meekly accepted that I’d been wrong but I hadn’t been wrong! I hadn’t written the date wrong on my calendar at work. I hadn’t remembered incorrectly.
Of course, if I’d bothered to read the reminder email I could have called them to find out why they were reminding me of an appointment that was a day later according the slip THEY’D GIVEN ME! So yes, in future days, I will read the reminder emails more carefully.
But the real moral of this story is to NOT deny yourself Crazy Bread for a mistake that is probably not even your mistake. Because hello, even though I thought I was wrong…it turns out I was not wrong. Or at least I was not as wrong as I’d first thought and even if I’d been all the way wrong, that’s not really a reason to deny myself Crazy Bread.
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