Thursday, April 26, 2012

Old School

The other night after work I offered to walk around the neighborhood with Hannah while she took the dog out for her daily poop walk.  I figured I would get a little exercise, and have a lovely chat with my daughter, which was, indeed what happened.

When we arrived home I went to throw Chloe's deposit in the trash, so I handed Hannah the key to the house.  Hannah looked at my key ring and looked back up at me, how shall I say this...dumbly.  She walked over to the back door and started fumbling with the keys and said, "Keys are so OLD SCHOOL, Mom."


"Keys are so old school.  They're like know...old school.  It's not like I don't know how to use it, but why should I have to?"

Huh.  Hannah NEVER uses keys.  We have a keypad to get into the house.  Her comment struck me as funny, then sad.  And, it made me feel really old.  Again.

Friday, April 20, 2012


Last week I was feeling under the gun to get my nephew's birthday card out to the mailbox.  His birthday is the 15th, and it was my responsibility (on behalf of my sister and brother and law and me) to send the gift and I just wanted to make sure it was there on time.  It is my nephew's first birthday since joining the Navy, and I wanted him to get some stuff in the mail. I also knew that he recently changed rooms, according to my brother, so I wanted to get the envelope out so it could be rerouted if needed.

Tuesday morning I get the card, fill it out, and enclose his gift.  I address the envelope, stamp it, and walk it out to the mailbox.  It's really not that hard.  We've all done it.  But I felt a sense of accomplishment, like yeah me!  I crossed this off my list!  Woot!  Happy dance.  I head off to work thinking my job is done, and nomination for World's Best Aunt is in the bag.

A few hours later I walk in the door after work and see a familiar envelope on the kitchen counter.  Irritated, I call out to Bubba and ask him why the envelope is inside, rather than out in the mailbox.  JUST as Bubba is answering that he thought it was incoming mail I pick up the envelope, meaning to take it back outside, only to notice that the envelope was ripped open.  Bubba had opened it.  I asked Bubba if it was his birthday.  I asked him if he used the gift too.

My engine starts revving up and I am in full throttle lecture mode now.  WHAT THE HECK!!?? Not only did you remove my envelope from the mailbox with the red flag up, but you freaking opened it?  Do I need to send you back to elementary school?  Does it have your name on it? How do you address an envelope?  Why are you opening someone else's mail?  It's called situational awareness child!

Yes, I admit it.  I chewed him up and spit him out.  I was pissed.  Bubba is the smartest, sweetest, most handsome boy in the whole universe, and I love him unconditionally, but sometimes he does the stupidest shit ever.

Thursday, April 19, 2012


Hannah has a boyfriend.  No, not the very cute and popular by parents, Bryce, that she dated and dumped last year, but a new one.  


Did that come out wrong?  Did you hear the disgust or irritation in my voice?  

Tony is fine.  Tony is nice.  I get along with Tony.  He's at our house ALL THE FREAKING TIME, which is fine.  Sort of.  If you describe Tony to anyone the words "white man's 'fro" are inevitably included and EVERYONE recognizes who you are describing out of the thousands of kids at Hannah's high school.  You know, Tony?  White man's 'fro?  He looks like a Q-tip?  Tall, skinny...white man's 'fro?  Ahhh...recognition.  I actually don't mind Tony's hair, but it's strange that EVERYONE describes him by it.  Once Hannah straightened it with a flat iron and it was really weird, but oh well.

Tony and Hannah kiss.  THIS is why I am disgusted.  Suddenly I feel like the Warden because I have to make sure that where ever they are in my house, they are not kissing.  They sit together and watch movies and I have to be in the room because I start freaking out about how he's holding her hand or what's going to happen next.  The two of them go up to her bedroom and I start pacing. Paranoid.  Yup.

Hannah is in luv.  Barf.  Some dude has his mouth on my girl.  Barf.  The topics of safe sex and abstinence are mentioned weekly, if not more often.

My little girl is growing up.  Sniff.  Sniff.  

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Old Age

My sister and I were talking about age and it's effects on the body yesterday.  We agreed that we wanted to continue to take care of ourselves so we could be strong and active in our 70's.

Laura commented on our mother and how she marveled at Anita (mother-in-law and all around wonder-woman who is older than my Mom) and how she cooked for the entire family on Easter.  This led to the discussion that I have never seen my mother or father exercise until maybe a year ago.  Never.  We never went on a family walk.  My parents never aerobicized, never lifted weights, never jogged, never ANYTHING.  Don't get me wrong, my father was the strongest man I knew until PD.  But, my parents never took care of their muscles.

After this long, enlightening discussion we both felt good that we have walked and made exercise a priority.  We aren't perfect, well maybe Laura is, but we are making efforts and trying to take care of ourselves.  I patted myself on the back.  Until...

I am in the deepest sleep I have ever been in at 1:00 a.m.  I'm talking James Cameron in a submarine to the deepest part of the ocean, deep sleep, when my 11 year old SCARES THE %H@T OUT OF ME by waking me up with an earache.  

I try comforting Bubba.  I honestly cannot wake up.  He is lying in bed next to me whimpering and writhing in pain over his ear and I don't even know how to wrap my mind around operating a flashlight to look inside his ear.  God forbid I have to turn a light on.  

For the next HOUR, yes darn you Ibuprofen for not working quicker, I stumble around my bedroom wetting hot washcloths, trying to focus on his ear canal all because my only goal is to make him stop crying and whimpering so I can go back to sleep.  

At one point I remember handing him the children's Ibuprofen bottle and telling him to drink up because I can't remember how to measure, and who knows where the little plastic cup is at 2 in the morning.  If it is any consolation, I do remember thinking that he is almost 12, and it was children's Ibuprofen, so he should be fine.

Now?  It's 9 in the morning and I feel like I have been hit by a truck because I was up in the night for an hour.  How did I ever do this when the kids were babies?  Forty two,  I honestly think I hate you.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Touched by Jesus

Hannah decided to join rec soccer this spring.  No, it wasn't because she wanted to prepare for trying out for Fall soccer.  No, it wasn't because she wanted some exercise.  No, it wasn't because she wanted to make the 2 days a week at the field turn into 4 days a week for me.  The reason?  Her boyfriend (I'm barfing in my mouth, but we'll talk more on that later) is playing rec.  No, they are not on the same team, silly.  Hannah is too competitive for that.  She wants to beat his team.

Last Tuesday night they had their first game.  

Remember.  My girl is 5'5" or so and weighs about 110?  She is a ninth grader.  A YOUNG ninth grader.  She decided (with my permission) to play in a high school 9-12 coed rec league.  So yes, there are men playing on the team.  Full grown men.

Hannah runs out on the field, which this is good for her on so many levels...she doesn't know ANYONE on her team, she has a great NEW coach...all good things.  Hannah runs out on the field and plays a fine game, she was a little timid, but her team slaughters the other team.  

During the game I notice that one of the boys on the other team is HUGE, has long curly brown hair that has to be contained in a pony tail, and a full grizzly Adams beard.  He truly looks like the Living Bible Caucasian Jesus from the 1980s.

At the end of the match the teams line up to smack hands and say the prerequisite "good game" and a member of the opposing team smacks Hannah's hand.  Hannah runs over to me excitedly and exclaims, "I touched Jesus!  He told me I did a good job!  I touched Jesus!"

Apparently every freshman at school calls the man with the long hair and beard Jesus, and when they do?  He flips them off.

My Brain is Full

No, I haven't been consumed by crickets.  I haven't been handcuffed and sent away because I  freaked out and actually confronted one of the idiots I tend to prey on in these pages.

My life, like all the rest of yours, is complicated.  This last year I have been on the roller coaster ride of being caught up in my own head and thoughts, sometimes depressed, and other times managing better than I ever dreamed.

On top of this crazy head of mine filled with...stuff, this blog has evolved into something more humorous?  And sometimes I walk through life not noticing all the crazies around me because I am so consumed by thoughts.  That and I am knee deep in research paper currently and trying not to drown.

Did I tell you all that I'm in grad school?  I'm in the 5th week of a 7 week class and this Sunday my first ever grad school research paper is due.  APA format...citations...references...all that.  Yup, that soaks in and fills the rest of my thoughts.

But have no fear!  Soccer season started last week and I was fondly thinking of the blog and all the myriad of characters on Bubba's team...and NOW!!!  Hannah is playing rec too and BOY DO I HAVE STORIES TO TELL!!!  After only a week!  So have no fear.  I am slowly rising out of the muck of my brain and will prevail!

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Dear Ataulfo,

Dearest Ataulfo,

I am utterly addicted to you.  You and your wicked sweetness.  You taste like a hot summer day in the middle of March.  You taste like tan skin and sand under my toes.

Even though you are only in my life a short short time, I hunger for you all year long. My sweet, sweet Ataulfo.

When I see your buttery yellow flesh I smile and overindulge.  I carry you home hoarding you, protecting you, fighting for you.  

Please...please don't go away again Ataulfo.  I can't wait another year for your return.