It's 6:00 and we're hungry. After abandoning plans for the Dinosaur Museum due to cranky children we all head into town for dinner. Because I had just jumped out of the shower I had on no make up and my hair was still damp.
Because of road construction and Friday night traffic it takes forever to get into town. Not wanting to waste time I grabbed a pile of bags that were sewn but needed to be clipped. I clipped and clipped, fabric and thread, on our slow journey to dinner.
I'm behind on laundry and when I dressed myself this evening choices were slim. I decided on blue corduroy pants that are, well, several sizes too big and quite frankly look like men's sailor pants from the 50's. I paired those beauties with a red, peach, navy, white, and baby blue polyester, floral print, button down shirt from a thrift store. And then I topped off the whole ensemble with sky blue cardigan whose ties are lost and a pair of black flip flops.
After picking up dinner I remembered that I wanted to buy some dish towels at the Dollar Store for a sewing project I've run across recently. Everyone stayed in the van-bus while I ran in and bought 15 towels.
Standing in the check out line I heard a couple whispering about how sad it would be if they had to shop at the Dollar Store "for real" and how they wish they could help the people here. "Oh, me too," I thought and turned around to smile at the cute couple (who really were darling, young, sweet, early 20's...). My eyes made contact with the wife who smiled so kindly and then it hit me....IT WAS ME THEY FELT SORRY FOR!!!
Suddenly my focus zoomed out and I saw what I must look like...over sized ill fitting thrift store clothes that made me look like a skeleton (which I'm not---I still weigh 5 .lbs more than I did when I got pregnant with eliza), pants covered in fabric clippings, thread, and mounds of white fake fur (compliments of a really cool bag I made today), no make up with the bonus of a giant angry patch of eczema taking over my forehead and distressed air dried hair(picture the Gene Wilder Willie Wonka). There I was looking like a crazy cat lady stocking up on dish towels alone on a Friday night.
So now I've become an object to pity. Good job liz....good job...all I want to know now is, if that couple felt so bad for me why didn't they offer to pay for my dish towels? Hum??? For all they knew I could have been using the towels to build a shelter for me and my 700 precious kitties. Young people these days. Sheez!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Who I Look Like
Tonight Simon took a bath in my giant tub. We filled it with bubbles and pirate ships and little people. Then he turned on the jets to really make a bubble storm. I can hear him in there playing and talking and "practicing swimming". Then he yells, "Mom!"
I peek in to check on him. There he is standing up in the tub where he has covered himself in bubbles and has given himself a beard. Before I can say a word he proudly says, "Mom, I look just like Jesus!"
I peek in to check on him. There he is standing up in the tub where he has covered himself in bubbles and has given himself a beard. Before I can say a word he proudly says, "Mom, I look just like Jesus!"
Traffic
All the roads around us are under construction and it drives me crazy. Everywhere we go there are flaggers and orange cones and gravel and pot holes and delays and I hate it. Today we turned the corner only to find a long line of cars stopped while a dump truck made a 75 point turn across all lanes of traffic. As we came to a stop Simon shouts, "You gotta be kidding me! All these cars! This is ridiculous!" Apparently Simon is tired of road construction as well.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Symptoms of Uncoolness
Symptoms of my uncoolness have been showing for years (let's face it my whole life) but recently they have become far more pronounced.
Like the other day I was at the Wal-Mart when I was tackled by a former student. He was such a cute little 7th grader and now he's a big old ugly senior in high school. There he was so excited to tell me what he's been doing and introduce me to his girlfriend and blah blah blah and what do I talk to him about? I start scolding him for failing grades last semester and making him commit to completing his packets early so he can walk with his graduating class. Not cool. When did I get old?
Then as he's telling me how hard it is to complete a lousy packet I'm thinking "Hard? I'll show you hard! Try taking your two kids to Wal-Mart where they will fill up the cart which you are trying to push while they are acting crazy and you are lugging around a giant Tupperware bin full of heavy plants! Now, that's hard. Give me your stinking packets any day." So, I'm uncool and ornery.
As he walked away with his girlfriend I heard them planning to go to this cool little place for lunch. I pulled the train into the check out station thinking, "You're behind in credits to graduate but you're going to spend your day off wandering Wal-Mart and going out to lunch? Seriously?" Even my thoughts are uncool! But then items in the cart shifted, eliza was buried in groceries and my thoughts turned to extracting my child from the cart.
This incident is just one example of many I've experienced lately. Like the other day I saw one of my old favorite movies on TV---Dumb and Dumber. As I watched it I realized I don't really think it's that funny anymore. Could it be possible I've outgrown it?
Or the other night I was at Book Club and my friends husband came home. He started telling us about how he takes the new express bus into work everyday. He started to laugh about that being the most exciting thing in his life. Well---at least that something. I don't have a bus story. Uncool again.
I'd write more but eliza is asleep and I need take advantage of this time to go clean the bathrooms. Yes, I know that's not cool either. Part of me wants a remedy to my uncoolness. The other part is glad to be uncool. Which is good because I think, at this point, I'm incurable.
Which reminds me---the other day driving home I was flipping through radio stations and stopped to listen to Dolly Parton sing "9 to 5". Now I know that can't be cool.
Like the other day I was at the Wal-Mart when I was tackled by a former student. He was such a cute little 7th grader and now he's a big old ugly senior in high school. There he was so excited to tell me what he's been doing and introduce me to his girlfriend and blah blah blah and what do I talk to him about? I start scolding him for failing grades last semester and making him commit to completing his packets early so he can walk with his graduating class. Not cool. When did I get old?
Then as he's telling me how hard it is to complete a lousy packet I'm thinking "Hard? I'll show you hard! Try taking your two kids to Wal-Mart where they will fill up the cart which you are trying to push while they are acting crazy and you are lugging around a giant Tupperware bin full of heavy plants! Now, that's hard. Give me your stinking packets any day." So, I'm uncool and ornery.
As he walked away with his girlfriend I heard them planning to go to this cool little place for lunch. I pulled the train into the check out station thinking, "You're behind in credits to graduate but you're going to spend your day off wandering Wal-Mart and going out to lunch? Seriously?" Even my thoughts are uncool! But then items in the cart shifted, eliza was buried in groceries and my thoughts turned to extracting my child from the cart.
This incident is just one example of many I've experienced lately. Like the other day I saw one of my old favorite movies on TV---Dumb and Dumber. As I watched it I realized I don't really think it's that funny anymore. Could it be possible I've outgrown it?
Or the other night I was at Book Club and my friends husband came home. He started telling us about how he takes the new express bus into work everyday. He started to laugh about that being the most exciting thing in his life. Well---at least that something. I don't have a bus story. Uncool again.
I'd write more but eliza is asleep and I need take advantage of this time to go clean the bathrooms. Yes, I know that's not cool either. Part of me wants a remedy to my uncoolness. The other part is glad to be uncool. Which is good because I think, at this point, I'm incurable.
Which reminds me---the other day driving home I was flipping through radio stations and stopped to listen to Dolly Parton sing "9 to 5". Now I know that can't be cool.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Because 2 Plus 2 Makes 4
Getting Simon to eat is ridiculous (see "We Paid Him To Eat" On My Cousins Underwear Blog) so meal time is stressful. The other night we were trying to make him eat 6 bites of something. He had already eaten four bites so I say, "Simon you only have two bites left!"
And then he says, "Then I'm done!"
And then I say, "No, you're not done yet. You have only had four bites"
And then he says, "So, now I'm done because two plus two equals four! See! I already had two more bites."
I won't be teaching eliza math until she turns 20.
And then he says, "Then I'm done!"
And then I say, "No, you're not done yet. You have only had four bites"
And then he says, "So, now I'm done because two plus two equals four! See! I already had two more bites."
I won't be teaching eliza math until she turns 20.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Service Journal
In an effort to be a nicer person I started keeping a service journal to motivate myself. The goal was to record in the journal each night 3 kind things that I did for someone else. I did this for quite awhile but then I stopped recording the service and then the service began to slow down. Now I feel happy to have just made it through the day without going mid-evil on someone.
Anyways...I've decided it's time to resurrect the journal. Picking it up I remembered an act of service that is, well, memorable.
Come with me now to the local gas station. I am oh, about 8 months pregnant and looking especially cute in my baby pink fleece maternity track suit. (I'll pause here to agree that even the very idea of a maternity track suit is ludicrous but they are comfortable and I have several so just go with it ok.) It might have been May but I was still cold all the time so fleece was the obvious choice. Along with that choice I chose to ignore the fact that the suit itself was no longer suitable for my ever increasing girth.
Never the less, there I am getting Simon and myself some liquid refreshment. As we exit said establishment I notice a group of construction workers with their dumpy old pick up truck by the air pump. They were arguing and if my limited Spanish vocabulary served me well they were cursing. After buckling Simon in his car seat I realized what their problem was. A few days prior the gas station disabled the old air pump and put in a new one like 2 feet away. However, unless you knew it was there it would be impossible to even know it existed and it was ridiculously complicated for an air pump.
I saw my chance for service! Maternity girl to the rescue! I marched over to the men and since we had a bit of a language barrier I had to demonstrate the solution. Picking up the hidden air pump I began to show them what needed to be done. Quickly I was relieved of duty by one of the men and I hoped back in my car with Simon and drove home. It wasn't until I drove off that I realized how funny that must have looked. A giant pink pregnant girl showing 3 dusty construction workers who don't speak English how to use the mystery air pump.
I remember this moment in an aerial view. Looking down I see Simon watching me out the window. I watch myself lug that hose over to the men like I do it everyday and then my favorite part---I see the dudes standing around, embarrassed and saying NOTHING. Next the guy in the straw cowboy hat takes the hose, jerks his head and I walk away, belly bouncing, feeling oh so helpful. (I have no doubt that those men took a solemn oath right there in the parking lot to never breathe a word about what had just happened.)
Whether or not humiliating construction workers is actually an act of service or not is clearly debatable but I counted it. And starting tonight it's onward Service Girl and look out to anyone in need at the gas station.
Anyways...I've decided it's time to resurrect the journal. Picking it up I remembered an act of service that is, well, memorable.
Come with me now to the local gas station. I am oh, about 8 months pregnant and looking especially cute in my baby pink fleece maternity track suit. (I'll pause here to agree that even the very idea of a maternity track suit is ludicrous but they are comfortable and I have several so just go with it ok.) It might have been May but I was still cold all the time so fleece was the obvious choice. Along with that choice I chose to ignore the fact that the suit itself was no longer suitable for my ever increasing girth.
Never the less, there I am getting Simon and myself some liquid refreshment. As we exit said establishment I notice a group of construction workers with their dumpy old pick up truck by the air pump. They were arguing and if my limited Spanish vocabulary served me well they were cursing. After buckling Simon in his car seat I realized what their problem was. A few days prior the gas station disabled the old air pump and put in a new one like 2 feet away. However, unless you knew it was there it would be impossible to even know it existed and it was ridiculously complicated for an air pump.
I saw my chance for service! Maternity girl to the rescue! I marched over to the men and since we had a bit of a language barrier I had to demonstrate the solution. Picking up the hidden air pump I began to show them what needed to be done. Quickly I was relieved of duty by one of the men and I hoped back in my car with Simon and drove home. It wasn't until I drove off that I realized how funny that must have looked. A giant pink pregnant girl showing 3 dusty construction workers who don't speak English how to use the mystery air pump.
I remember this moment in an aerial view. Looking down I see Simon watching me out the window. I watch myself lug that hose over to the men like I do it everyday and then my favorite part---I see the dudes standing around, embarrassed and saying NOTHING. Next the guy in the straw cowboy hat takes the hose, jerks his head and I walk away, belly bouncing, feeling oh so helpful. (I have no doubt that those men took a solemn oath right there in the parking lot to never breathe a word about what had just happened.)
Whether or not humiliating construction workers is actually an act of service or not is clearly debatable but I counted it. And starting tonight it's onward Service Girl and look out to anyone in need at the gas station.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I'm Just Working Here Until I Finish My Degree
So, there was this time I was teaching at a junior high and some boys in my class were having one of those conversations where you know they can't be talking about anything good. You know the kind...lots of whispers...laughing... standing close together...looking around to see if anyone is listening.
Class hadn't started yet and I'll admit I just love finding out what junior high kids think is super secret, super interesting, super funny information even though it is usually based on who farted last period or who totally likes who. So I call them all over and tell them to spill it. Usually that is all it takes and I have a ridiculous story about so and so messing with his English teacher. But, this time no one was talking. And then class started.
We were going through our usual routine and I can see these boys continuing to make eye contact and laughing and then one of them whispers to another, "Ask her!" Ok, so the super interesting junior high info is about me. So I'm trying to think of what I've done recently that a 13 year old would find embarrassing....nothing comes to mind. So I stop what we're doing and sit on my table where I go when we have class discussions.
"Alright Ted (not his real name), go ahead, ask me."
"No way!" (Giggles from the other boys)
"C'mon Ted."
From the other boys "Do it! Just do it!" and more laughter.
At this point I thought I knew what it was. I really thought that somehow they had discovered that I set the science teacher up on a date with my sister in law and that their date was a disaster. This was a subject they could ask me about, we'd all laugh super hard and then it would be back to the lesson in T minus two minutes. Boy, was I wrong.
"C'mon Ted"
Reluctantly, "Ok, Do you know that place called Hooters?"
Realizing I'm in trouble, "Um, yes. Why do you know that place?"
"My dad goes there."
"That's nice."
"He says that's where he knows you from because you used to work there."
Dead silence....
Now let me say that this is the only situation where this conversation could have taken place. The kids are old enough to know what Hooters is but young enough not to put together the fact that I'm massively under qualified for the job.
"Well, Ted. I did used to be a waitress but it wasn't at Hooters. And, like I told your dad I really don't think we've met before. Thanks for asking though. Does anyone else have any questions?"
No one had any more questions.
However, the boys chose to believe Ted's dad rather than me and the "fact" that Mrs. Evans used to work at Hooters was a hot topic for a week or two. Even on my last day at work the teachers gave me a package of two pink Hostess snowballs to take with me in case times got tough and I needed help getting my old job back.
Unfortunately, times have gotten tough...now where did I put those snowballs?
Class hadn't started yet and I'll admit I just love finding out what junior high kids think is super secret, super interesting, super funny information even though it is usually based on who farted last period or who totally likes who. So I call them all over and tell them to spill it. Usually that is all it takes and I have a ridiculous story about so and so messing with his English teacher. But, this time no one was talking. And then class started.
We were going through our usual routine and I can see these boys continuing to make eye contact and laughing and then one of them whispers to another, "Ask her!" Ok, so the super interesting junior high info is about me. So I'm trying to think of what I've done recently that a 13 year old would find embarrassing....nothing comes to mind. So I stop what we're doing and sit on my table where I go when we have class discussions.
"Alright Ted (not his real name), go ahead, ask me."
"No way!" (Giggles from the other boys)
"C'mon Ted."
From the other boys "Do it! Just do it!" and more laughter.
At this point I thought I knew what it was. I really thought that somehow they had discovered that I set the science teacher up on a date with my sister in law and that their date was a disaster. This was a subject they could ask me about, we'd all laugh super hard and then it would be back to the lesson in T minus two minutes. Boy, was I wrong.
"C'mon Ted"
Reluctantly, "Ok, Do you know that place called Hooters?"
Realizing I'm in trouble, "Um, yes. Why do you know that place?"
"My dad goes there."
"That's nice."
"He says that's where he knows you from because you used to work there."
Dead silence....
Now let me say that this is the only situation where this conversation could have taken place. The kids are old enough to know what Hooters is but young enough not to put together the fact that I'm massively under qualified for the job.
"Well, Ted. I did used to be a waitress but it wasn't at Hooters. And, like I told your dad I really don't think we've met before. Thanks for asking though. Does anyone else have any questions?"
No one had any more questions.
However, the boys chose to believe Ted's dad rather than me and the "fact" that Mrs. Evans used to work at Hooters was a hot topic for a week or two. Even on my last day at work the teachers gave me a package of two pink Hostess snowballs to take with me in case times got tough and I needed help getting my old job back.
Unfortunately, times have gotten tough...now where did I put those snowballs?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)