Rest area bathrooms can provide relief in many ways….
Alex, I’ll take creative writing for $1000.
What is the nasty inner workings of a sick messed up mind that needed to
be spanked and grounded more as a child?
I must start this little ditty with an education in current teenage lingo. For those you who do not currently have a pre-teen or teenagers schlepping and moping around your abode, there is a current trend amongst their species to shorten words that don’t need to be shortened as there were perfectly effective and useful in their original state. The latest causality to their assault on the English language is the affectionate term of endearment, babe.
If you’ve been anywhere near an Instagram account or tweeting on Twitter (Don’t dig around on Facebook. No self-respecting teenager would be caught dead there anymore. That’s where all the ‘old’ people are), you may have seen this pop up from time to time.
‘My two Bae’
‘Me and my Bae’
‘I love my Bae’
I was driving just the other day with my (deep breaths Kerry) 9th grader, when she made a statement about her ‘Bae’
Me – “Your what!?!”
Ridiculous 9th grader – “My Bae. It’s like Boo, Babe, Baby.”
Me – (Imagine me with a dumbfounded and confused look on my face.) – “Um, you don’t have any of those.”
Annoyed 9th grader – “Ugh. Mom, this just a thing people call their best friends, they are your Bae.”
Me – “Why would you call your best friend a large body of water? Sounds a little mean to me.”
Irritated by my obviously not being hip enough for her 9th grader – “Not B-A-Y, B-A-E. Bae, babe minus the second B.”
Me – “Well that’s dum, D-U-M, dum.”
Condescending 9th grader – “Um, dumb with spelled D-U-M-B. Your forgot the B.”
Me – “So did you.”
For this round….
Mom – 1
Put in her place 9th grader – 0
As it has with anyone, life has thrown me some curse balls along the way. What I’ve learned about myself and others and the curve balls themselves has been really interesting.
You probably know by now that I’m a plan making and a list creating fool. Sometimes I make lists for my plans and vis versa. It’s a sickness really. What I also know is the best way to make God laugh is to make a plan. God is a master curve ball pitcher. Plan to do X and he throws a perfect curve right into your strike zone. Are you going to stand there and go down looking? Or are you going to swing a way, take control of the curve, and make it your own?
I gave up a long time ago being mad about God’s curve balls. I know there is something bigger than me in this universe and I believe I my purpose in life is to figure out, well, what that purpose is. I don’t know everything. I don’t have all the answers, but each day I set out on my mission to learn and grown and be a positive force in this world. Set aside money for one thing, then another thing breaks that takes the funds. Plan an outing for the day and the car won’t start when it’s time to leave. If I was thrown this type of curve ball, God was just letting me know that my plan wasn’t really his plan and I need to change my line up. I can deal.
Sometimes I’ve, knowingly or unknowingly, thrown myself my own curve balls. I forgot to have all my cylinders turned on. I didn’t pay attention to details. I knew something was wrong, but I did it anyway, ignoring my gut feelings and morals, forging ahead, believing I knew better. I swung at a pitch above my head. I put myself behind in the pitch count. The only way out is hunker down and protect the plate. I have to acknowledge my mistakes, accept that I was wrong, eat my crow, then apologize, ask for forgiveness, fix my mistakes and move forward. Personally challenging at bats build character and humility.
It’s the last type of curve balls that I’m struggling with the most. Those are the ones that others throw at you. You have a course of action all in place and someone comes in and makes meaningless changes just to show they have some power or control. Someone spouts off rude, mean, hurtful comments about another individual, then when caught makes up more lies to cover their tracks or tells you, you should turn the other cheek and let it go. (Sorry I just made you sing that song.) How come those who frequently stomp all over the morals and values of humanity, self-centeredly focused on getting their way, are the first ones to throw scripture at others about being loving, kind, and forgiving, but never once consider being remorseful, apologetic, or even owning up to their actions? Yes, yes, I know. This curve ball is just another one like the others, and I have to flow with it just the same. But this one’s a stinger. This one’s a dead ball to the backside. It stings. The memory of it is vivid. It leaves a nasty mark.
It changes you. It changes your outlook. It changes your feelings. It changes your future decisions.
But afterwards, you get up, take your base and play ball.
I live with a family of allergy babies. And by babies, I mean whiny, cry-baby, wimps. It’s a beautiful spring day. Can I open the windows and let the breeze in? Nope. “Close that window! You’re going to let all the pollen in!” Owww… There’s an extra couple of bucks in the check book, maybe I can buy a new read or some yarn. Nope. “My throat itches. Where are the allergy pills?” There goes another $30 on stupid allergy meds just so you can breathe better, whatever.
I’ve always felt pretty lucky to have escaped the trappings on their season pity party.
Unfortunately, it looks like they are going to have to make room at the table for one more runny nosed, itchy, sneezing complainer.
I was pleasantly minding my own business on Sunday night when it all began.
Rub eye. Rub it again. Blink, blink, blink. Rub eye. Rub other eye. Eye begins dripping. Drip, drip, drip. What the hell?
Itch arm. Itch arm again. Scratch the heck out of arm. What are those bumps on my arm?
Drip, drip. That darn eye. Wait, that’s my nose. Oh hell….
I’m going to go to bed and pretend none of this is happening.
Wake up Monday…. Sniffle, drip, sniffle, drip. How can a nose be clogged and runny at the same time? Itch, scratch, itch, scratch. Great, the bumps are still there. If the bumps are on my arm, why does the back of my throat itch? Can I even scratch that? Crap, now my eye is leaking again.
This is stupid. I don’t have allergies. This is NOT happening to me. It’s just a spring cold. People still get those, right? Yes, spring cold. I just need some extra sleep. I’m going to bed.
Wake up Tuesday…. Now I know I’m awake, so why can’t I see anything? What’s on my eyes? Sweet, they are crusted shut. Is crusted a word? It is now. I lose few eyelashes, but I finally get my eyes open. Now I’m wishing I hadn’t. Not only are my crusted over, but they are also swollen. The left one more so than the right. Uneven, swollen, puffy, crusty eyes….very attractive. And to add to the look, the crustys have traveled to my nose where a mixture of a running and bleeding nose has created a Jackson Pollack-esk rendition on my face and hand. My throat still itches and I still can’t scratch it. Plus, now my head feels like it’s in a vice grip. Ugh!
At that exact moment, my super sensitive husband walked in.
Me – “I feel like shit.”
IP – “You look like shit!”
Me – “Thanks”
I see IP has been attending his charm school classes again. Heck, with wooing words like that, he could teach the courses.
Now, could someone please point me in the direction of the nearest bottles of Zyrtec and Allegra…. and close that window while you’re at it!
And that’s ok.
My kids might need a lot of therapy when they grow up, but that’s ok. It was fun while we were doing it!
Happy Easter all!
It’s a common experience. You’re sitting in some location of your house, minding your own business, doing whatever to darn well please, because it’s your house and you can, when you start to feel the inner workings of nature calling you. A quick scan of the area shows that all the little people you have brought into this world are actively engaged, maybe it’s in Frozen for the 800th time or they are texting that drama queen from school you’ve told them to stay away from, but it doesn’t matter at the moment. Screen time be damned! They’re busy and the coast is clear for you.
Or so you think.
The minute you steal yourself away to take care of business, they find you. They always find you.
I’ve experienced it. I’m sure many of you’ve experienced it. Heck, I’ve even blogged about it before.
What I present for you today friends, is a sure fire way to earn some peace and quiet and take back the sanctity of your thrown!
Warning: The use of this method will require to leave your modesty and inhibitions at the door as you are about to intentionally embarrass yourself and mortify your children. P.S. – You might also want to make sure those little rugrats don’t have a camera running, as no one will want to see this in replay.
Step on – Take off to the bathroom to do your business.
Step two – Complete said business.
Step three – Wait for the interrupting knock on the bathroom door from a child needing to ask you a completely useless question that didn’t need asking 30 seconds ago but is now a matter of life and death. (Step three is slightly unnecessary as we all know there was no need to wait. Said child knocked on the door the minute your cheeks hit the seat.)
Step Four – Tell child you will be out in just one minute. (Use that sweet, singsongy, mommy voice. It really lays the trap for what’s coming.)
Step Five – Emerge from the bathroom pants less and barrel towards your offspring at full speed in your underwear while loudly announcing, “I went poopy! I went poopy!”
I have yet to have them bother me again while I’m in the bathroom. Of course they don’t quite look me in the eyes anymore and might have to use some of their college money for therapy, but whatever…. All I know is, the bathroom it all mine right now!