Deployment Law

First of all, Justin is not deployed. He’s just stationed 7,000 miles away from us.

Also, I had intended on writing a post about me getting peer pressured into doing the Reverse Sprint Triathlon. It will start out that way, but then thanks to “Deployment Law,” it will all go terribly wrong.

Thursday at work, I was convinced by a co-worker to do the Reverse Sprint Tri–I did it last year, so why not?! I hired a babysitter, threw my bike rack on the van, put air in my bike tires, and went out for a 4 mile run. I was ready!

Or was I?

This morning I got there, and got everything set up. I went into the pool’s guard room and dropped my stuff off. 5 minutes into the run I thought, “wait–did I bring my bike helmet into the guard room?! Surely not!” Oh, I surely did.

So, after adding a good 2/10 mile onto the already 3.4 mile run, I hopped on my bike and away I went. Biking has never been so hard. No matter what I did, I really felt like I was putting WAY too much effort into it. At 3 miles I realized the back tire was making weird noises. At miles, I hopped off to see what was up.

My tire was flat. Painfully flat. I pulled out my phone and thought about who I could possibly contact. My list of acquaintances is short, consisting mainly of people I work with–people currently working, or racing. But the truck that was bringing up the rear was rapidly approaching. Quick! Act like you’re calling someone!

I panicked, and FaceTimed Justin. The truck pulled over and asked if everything was ok: “Oh, it’s fine. I have a flat tire.”

“Do you have someone coming to pick you up? Are you sure you’re ok?”

I am a big fat liar. I told them it was fine–I just lived down the street. It’s not entirely false. I do live down the street…and then another take a left and go another 2 miles. Either that, or say, “it’s cool, but I don’t actually know people.”

Introvert problems.

I cried a little (ok, I cried a lot) to Justin: “why does this crap have to happen!?” It’s the second race I’ve failed this year. No, this wasn’t a panic attack-induced drop out, but still!

After letting him know what happened, I was offered a ride from Dom, aka the co-worker who talked me into this in the first place. I told him it was no biggie; I was almost home. Also not a lie, but I did still have a 3 mile walk back to work so I could get my car (sorry Dom, I’m a liar).

This is what we in my family call “being a Ballschmieder.”

No no, everything is fine! I am a thousand percent ok with walking my bike home, and then all the way back to work to get my car. I don’t want to be a burden–just don’t wait for me.

So, Deployment Law: basically, if it can go wrong, it will, while your husband is TDY, or deployed, or stationed on the other side of the world. Ask any army wife, and they will tell you a horrible story of something going terribly wrong while their husband was gone. It might be the same in the civilian world too, who knows. I was thinking this morning about the fact that we’ve gone a full week, and it’s been going relatively smoothly. I’m staying positive, because my worry is that it’s all downhill from here.

Or uphill, on flat tires.


This evening, Shea was in a little school concert. It was pretty cute, and she got to be an adorable Box Fish.

After the performance, Xander and I made our way through the millions of parents (more like 30-50, but I’m not one for crowds, so you have to increase the actual amount, for dramatic effect), to Shea’s classroom. Shea’s teacher was standing in the doorway, looking happy, hand up, and……

I went for it! HIGH FIVE!!! Except that about half a second before contact I realized the invitation was for Xander. Too late to back out, I mumbled, “oops,” and gave the weakest half slap.


Immediately I became super awkward. Not knowing what to do, I scooped up Shea, said goodnight, and turned to leave.

I could hear Justin (from California) say, “why are you so awkward!?”

As we made our way to the car, I started giggling. And texting my sisters. Instantly, the playback in my head became more exaggerated, as I pictured myself running full speed at the man, jumping in front of Xander, and high-fiving him midair.

None of which happened, of course. But it might as well have. Because, oh my goodness.

Based on the look on his face, this was obviously a first. What in the world. It’s a good thing the school year is almost over, because I don’t think I will ever be able to make eye contact with that man again.

Most awkward mom ever!

How Did I Pass Kindergarten!?

Working with a trainer this past month has taught me 2 things about myself: I have to learn how to run, and I can’t jump rope.

Excuse me what?!

While my kids were home on spring break, I was given the task of jumping rope during one of my at home workouts. It was the worst. 100 passes took me most of the day. How could an activity children do for fun, be so evil!? My heart was pounding, I was unbelievably sweaty. It was brutal. What a workout.

Last Tuesday, Terry the Tormentor brought jump rope back to our workout routine. 50 passes. Ok, Sam. Deep breath, you can do this…until I hit 20something and he shouts, “what?! What?! No no no. Stop. What are you doing!?” Everything wrong, that’s what. He asked if Justin had ever seen me jump rope. Um, NO! He’s never seen me pee either, and I’m ok with keeping both activities private from him, thank you!

Of course, with my poor jump roping skills, and my poor running technique, I was left wondering: how in the world did I ever graduate from Kindergarten!?

Before you start thinking too hard about what I’m doing wrong, I’ll tell you. I’m kick my feet up to my butt, bend my knees, swing my arms like wild windmills. Do I jump over the rope? Obviously. Can I do it multiple times in a row? Of course! Am I putting way too much effort into what everyone else makes look like a simple task? You have no idea.

I watched as the surrounding men in the gym subtly relocated away from my wildly swinging rope, with a look of fear and amazement in their eyes, as if to say, “what is she doing,” and “I don’t want to die.” I don’t blame them. I would move away from my awkwardly, wild swinging rope too! Nothing about what I do makes sense, and it all seems dangerous.

I can color in the lines, and I can write my name. Kindergarten PE: Fail.

Technologically Challenged

Hey, so remember that time we took a trip to get a new phone? And I told him my number, and he said, “Samantha?” Then remember how I asked him not to finish setting it up, because I can’t trust myself with a new phone until I put a screen protector on it, and throw a case on it?

Let me back up. A few weeks ago, I dropped my phone. And cracked the screen. It’s not the first time it’s happened. I’m hopeless. Well, I decided it was time to just accept my fate and get a new phone.

Of course, I decided to order one from Amazon, to save myself all the weird fees, for whatever Verizon wants to add fees on for today. Phone arrives, I set it up. And then I spent an entire evening wondering why no one is responding to my texts.

That phone hated me. I spent an hour on the phone between Verizon and Apple. In the end, I shipped it back to the seller, for a refund. Yey.

Today, Justin suggested we just go to Verizon and get a new phone, so they could set it up for me. Until I decided I would wait. Because Cheesecake Factory was going to happen after Verizon (my inner fat girl was overjoyed at the excitement of chocolate peanut butter cheesecake action. Good thing I ran fast today).

We should go back even further.

Once upon a time, in 2009, we moved back to the states from Germany, and got new phone numbers. They ended in 68, and 69, with 68 being the main account number. Justin’s. Except that I have the mind of a teenager, and I made Justin take the 69 number, because I couldn’t be a mom and have that number! It’s dirty! Tee-hee. I’m turning red just explaining the reason I kept the main number.

So, remember when we went to get me a new phone, and we got home, and it was actually Justin’s phone? Yeah. And while I’m sure we could sort it out eventually (probably with a phone call or ANOTHER 30min drive to the store), I just went ahead and ordered me a new phone. New phones for everyone!

He’s super excited about his hot pink phone case, and the fact that MY thumbprint unlocks his phone too. I’m getting a lot of mileage out of saying, “hey, remember when I went and got a new phone, and then it was really your phone?!” Yeah, I’m hopeless.