Last night, after dinner, Xander went outside to play with the neighborhood kids. Army post living is a lot like stepping back in time–as long as we know where they’re going, and they stay on our street, they’re allowed to run off and play.
Suddenly, Justin said, “there’s a woman walking up to our door. Go see what she wants.” Justin! I’m not wearing a bra!!!
As soon as I see who it is, instant fear. Xander was going over to jump on her trampoline. Please please don’t be here to tell me he hurt someone.
Hey, I just wanted to let you know. Xander was jumping on the trampoline, and something came out of his nose. I think maybe it was sinus related or something. IT WASNT BLOOD. But, it got on the trampoline. And, I gave him some water. [My husband] wanted me to come and tell you, because we don’t want you to be concerned.
I’m sorry, what?! Is this really happening?! Did you really travel across the culdesac to let me know my son had boogers?!
I thanked her multiple times, because she obviously was concerned. About snot.
As I walked back inside, Justin asked, “what!? What was it!? What did she say!?” Deep breath, and I tell him what she told me. He stared at me for a second, and then responded: “what the fuck?! Did they think it was brain matter or something?!”
I guess I should be taking leaky snot more seriously?? It’s brains!!!
When you’re a kid, you are always counting down to the next great thing. You count down to Christmas. You count down to Birthdays. It’s all so exciting!
Two weeks ago, Justin turned 35. So obviously, it meant that in 14 days, I too would be turning 35.
Then, I woke up this morning, and Justin was wishing me happy birthday. Oh crap, that’s right!
The excitement over the day is lost. It’s cool–I have now graduated to the next age bracket. I’m no longer 25-34. Nope, welcome to 35-44!
This morning at work–my very last day as a lead lifeguard (yes, that’s right. I am once again an Assistant Aquatics Manager. Or at least, I am, as of tomorrow)–my boss called: “what are you doing this morning?” Well, I was planning on guarding: “what do you want me to be doing this morning?” It turns out, he wanted me to go to a meeting with a team of 10 individuals to discuss locker room renovations at the gym/pool.
Of course, I’m wearing a bathing suit and flipping hot pants. This is how I make first impressions. With booty shorts. Pardon my bathing suit, I wasn’t expecting to be walking around with a handful of adults who put clothes on to go to work.
It all went swimmingly (see what I did there)! I even got to give some input, and hopefully they were able to hear my ideas over my hot pink tank top and spandex.
I worked out with Terry, who had me do terrible, terrible “box jumps” up a dang amphitheater’s outdoor cement retaining wall-style seating. There is nothing more terrifying that jumping onto a 2-3ft cement barrier. It felt more like 5ft (um, yes, I was jumping walls nearly as high as I am tall. Ok, maybe I wasn’t, but my shins were telling me it was all much too high for any human to jump). This is his idea of fun–all in my preparation for the Spartan Race in July.
I had intended on going out to dinner for my birthday. Of course, at 6:30am when I finished throwing dinner into the crockpot, I remembered today was my birthday. So much for going out.
All during dinner, our puppy, Emma, kept running outside, and then running back in. We watched her carry one of her blankets outside. Oh Emma, you’re a crazy girl. The kids asked to be excused. Then Justin told Emma to “drop it.” What did she have? Oh, just a skein of green embroidery floss. I glanced outside and saw that she had already brought pink string out. We watched her drop the green skein. Justin wandered out to pick up the string: “Sammi! You need to see this!” I better get my phone…
It turns out, Emma was creating some sort of shrine to a dead mouse. String art, with a rodent center.
I might have forgotten that today was my birthday, but at the end of it all, I was given a pretty awesome gift. A ridiculous collection of string, places around a dead mouse. And a full evening of giggles. Thanks Emma.
And thank you to everyone who wished me Happy Birthday! I’m now closer to 40 than I am to 30, and that’s totally cool. I’m still just as awkward!
This morning, I finally remembered to shave my legs. For a lady who spends most days in a bathing suit, I should really be better about shaving regularly. But, my legs are long, and it feels like it takes forever. And I always end up with tiny cuts everywhere.
This morning, my worst nightmare came true.
I should start by explaining that I took a film class my freshman year of college. The professor had us watch a short film by Scorsese, titled “The Big Shave.” In it, a man shaves his face. Then he goes back and shaves again, this time shaving his skin off. Now, I am a girl who likes gross things. Blood and injuries. It’s all fabulous and interesting! But that short has stuck with me for 17 years, and still, the thought of it makes me cringe.
I basically reenacted that short this morning.
Instantly, I had an “oh crap” moment–especially since I was only halfway through shaving my first leg when the incident occurred! I WANTED to call it quits, as the blood mixed with water and made the injury look a million times worse.
Alas, I managed to finish shaving, without passing out from the blood loss. Miraculously enough, I did manage to complete the job with any further incidents. But really, there has to be a better way! This is probably why I only shave my legs once a week…or maybe this is the result of weekly shaving. I have no skills.
I see people my age, out in the world, dressed like big kids (or, adults maybe), and I don’t even know where to start.
After a tumultuous week, I finally took my Mom’s advice (which was, “men don’t get hints. Be bold! Say, ‘I want this job and you know I’ll be good at it!”), and talked to my boss. And also cried. Because I have overactive tear ducts, and they don’t know what to do in serious situation. I’ve tried talking to them, about controlling themselves, but the moment I started to say, “I’m crushed! I feel like I’ve done a great job these last 6 weeks, and now I’m told I’m ineligible, because of a technicality?!” Cue the tears. Thankfully, my boss has daughters, and obviously understands the struggles of emotional ladies.
The next step will be to interview, on Tuesday (send me positive energy, please). Which means dressing nice. Eeks!
Apart from the 6 months I worked in a salon, all the way back in 2005, my work attire has been bathing suits, and workout clothes. I had to dress up for monthly meetings when I was the Aquatics Coordinator back in Germany, but, not only was that nearly a decade ago, I was also pregnant for more than half of it.
Add to that the whole “Mom” thing. Every time I attempt to shop for myself, I either go crazy buying clothes for my kids, or I stumble into the fitness section and end up with running shorts and workout pants. Sometimes tops. Later I think, “crud! I was there to buy one pair of jeans! How did I end up with 10 neon tank tops!?”
I didn’t even let myself look at the fitness section. No! Booty shorts are not interview appropriate. Are they? Maybe if I was 21 and a size 2. But probably not ever. I don’t know anything about anything.
Have I ever mentioned that I’m a sweaty girl? If I just think about warm weather, I start sweating! Nothing says Professional Lady like boob sweat! That adds extra thought to any outfits. Ooh, pink! Just kidding. Better stick with darker colors. Can I please just wear running pants and a t-shirt?!
Justin was helpful: “What?! No! Sammi, that is not business casual!” Our kids were bored: “Mom? Can we buy something? Anything?!” Xander was full of compliments, as usual, and Shea gave all kinds of style advice, to include choosing this shirt:Nothing says “real, live grownup, who wants a big girl job,” like a t-shirt that reads, “Oh Please.” She gets it.
Outfits have been bought, adult status has hopefully been achieved. Honestly, for me, that was the hardest part of the interview process. I’m an introvert who loves to perform (that has to be an oxymoron), and that’s really all an interview is. Look at that, my performance major is actually relevant in life!
It’s been a weird day. The even weirder thing about today, is that last Tuesday was also weird. I better start with last Tuesday–you’ll thank me later.
It was a typical day in the life of me. Typical for what my life has been this last 6 weeks: Crazy, work-filled, out of the house the entire time my kids are at school, and then home to play catch-up all evening. Shea had just informed me that our cat, Jessie, had puked in the laundry room, and was trying to cover it up with dirty socks. Obviously. What do you do when you throw up on the laundry room floor?
Ah, the adventures I have. Don’t be jealous. No really, I know it’s hard not to envy this insanity.
Off I go, to clean up regurgitated cat food, because morbidly obese Jessie likes to binge and purge. I was having a serious, one-sided discussion, with her about her need to eat too fast, and then cry about not having food. No, I will not feed you again. Eat slower, and this won’t be an issue.
And then, BAM!!! Or splat. It was super loud, whatever it was. I stood up and started asking, “what was…” There was no point continuing. Goodness, gracious, great explosion of laundry detergent.
Well, that just happened.
I wiped it up with towels, washed the towels, and then our floor drain said, “too much soap,” and started spitting gross drain water all over the floor.
As a Buddhist, I should be willing to accept that these are all signs that I need a karmic boost.
This might have even been the same night that, in an attempt to figure out why we had a world of ants walking two-by-two across the floor, I located a cinnamon-and-sugar bagel Xander had “misplaced.” In his defense, I believe our puppy, Emma, knocked the bagel off the arm of the couch, which is located right up against the back of the computer desk. Xander thinks, lost and gone forever; ants think, THIS IS AMAZING!!!
I also got reprimanded for serving pasta and meat sauce on Taco Tuesday. I am not winning any Mother of the Year awards in this house. Of course, in all of my extra work hours, I have once again forgotten about the ever-important Taco Tuesday. I was reminded by Xander, on the walk home from the bus. He’s probably going to ask to trade me in for a better model–the version who remembers Taco Tuesday.
Fast forward to today. Honestly, when 23 May rolls around, if you can’t find me, I’m hiding. I’ll see you on the 24th, mmkay?
The day started moderately well. I forgot to ask my doctor to for a new prescription for birth control, but other than that, it was just another day. Until I read my email, and found out that I am not eligible for the Assistant Aquatics Manager position. Yes, I applied. And yes, I am not “qualified” for a job I have actually had. You might as well tell me I’m not qualified to breathe–wait. Maybe I’m not.
Let the record show that it doesn’t bother me.
Just kidding, it’s crushing.
Fast forward, fast forward, fast forward. Home from work, hanging out, trying to figure out what smells like…shit?
Well now, that would be the shit that Emma is playing with. Human shit, no less.
Knowing I will probably regret my actions, I walk toward the bathroom. Wouldn’t you know that one of my children, at some point in the day, took a giant poo, left the toilet open, and didn’t flush. If you were ever contemplating motherhood, let me tell you, it’s a glorious life. A gloriously shit-filled, stinky, dirty life.
Emma reached her poopie face into the toilet, grabbed a turd, and then played with it from there, to here. 30-so feet of poo smear. My gosh, I’m a lucky lady.
Also, the dish-washing fairy did not visit while I was at work. Crap.
Literal crap. Here, there, and everywhere. See why I stared with last Tuesday?! It was much more sanitary.