I’ve started running again—or at least, I have started working toward running again. My calves and my tibialis anterior are swollen and angry. I’m almost definitely doing everything wrong.
Sunday night I asked Justin a most serious question: “the whole time you’re running, is your brain just telling you to stop? Like, how do you stop your brain from trying to convince you to stop running??”
“What?? None of that is happening. I’m just thinking 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. The entire time.”
“That’s it?! Oh my gosh, at about :30 in, all I’m thinking is, ‘that’s enough. You can stop now. This wasn’t a smart idea to begin with. You gave it your all. How long has it been? :45?! There’s no way I can keep doing this.’ And on and on, until I eventually give in and stop.”
Another day, another run. I already wasn’t feeling it, but I know me: if I skip one day, that’ll be the end of this…again.
It started just like any other run: 2 minutes of walking, and then away I go. As usual, nothing was really going on. There was a woman walking her dog, and a little grandma walking to the end of the street…with mail??
Suddenly, I was being flagged down. “Excuse me! Can you help me??” This little Italian grandma, in a raccoon sweater was standing in the road, with papers and an iPhone. “Can you help me make a phone call? My daughter left me directions, but I do not know how to make this work. And my real phone isn’t working, so my daughter told me I have to call this number, but it won’t let me make a phone call.”
Psh. Between my two moms, I am a professional when it comes to assisting with what some might consider easy. Making an actual phone call might be the easiest task I have ever been asked to assist with.
“She said type this number in. And then look!? I can’t make a phone call! There’s no keypad! Where do I type in the numbers.”
Easy grandma, one step at a time. I point to the phone icon, and explain she has to click this. “Oh! Ok, now this is the number. I cannot really read it.” As I was about to type the number in, I realized she had obviously made it to this step at least 3 times. The long line of numbers across the phone was proof of that. I deleted, deleted, deleted, until I got down to one phone number.
“Ok. That’s the number—now you just press this button.” I point to it, and let her complete the final step (it’s like with kids—you want them to leave feeling like they accomplished big things). We hit a brick wall.
“See?! It will not let me call! It just says this!” I honestly don’t know what she did, but she lost her button pressing privileges. I backtracked and hit the button, and you would’ve thought Bob Barker just announced that she was the next contestant on The Price is Right!
I continued on my run, having only made it one minute into the damn thing when I got flagged down. For the rest of my run, my brain switched between, “oh my god this is terrible,” and “what the hell was that little old lady going to do if I didn’t run by?? Do you think she was going to flag down a car? Do you think she was going to cross the street and start ringing doorbells until someone answered and helped her with the most impossible task of using an iPhone to make a phone call?!”
On my way back, she was no longer standing at the road, so I’m guessing she managed to contact the phone company.
Word of advice to any children/grandchildren: if you need to assist someone with using a smart phone for the first time in their entire life, do not just write directions on a piece of paper and think they’ll be able to follow along. No matter how large you write the words, and no matter how simple the task is for you, this will most likely be the most difficult task they have to complete all day. Remember: this is the generation that left their VCRs blinking 12:00, because no one could figure out how to set them. They deserve patience and understanding.
I’m adding “patiently assists seniors with iPhone issues” to the skills section of my résumé.
Today was our first adventure outside the house since The Great Aldi Trip of Last Thursday. The day didn’t get off to the best start, so I wasn’t thoroughly looking forward to the adventure, but it seems kids need to eat. Every day.
I started the day off by putting on a pair of LuLaRoe leggings–not to actually leave the house in. Just so I wouldn’t be wandering around the house in my underwear. For all you ladies who are “obsessed” with LuLaRoe leggings…I’m sorry but something is wrong with you. It’s probably more likely that there’s something wrong with me, since so many people are in love with them. They’re soft, don’t get me wrong, but they give me hot flashes! No, I’m serious! My legs overheat and then my entire body breaks out into sweat. Which, is pretty much my normal, but I checked my temperature twice this morning, concerned that Justin brought me Covid-19 from work, before I realized it was these damn pants. That aren’t even flattering. You go girl, if you have to confidence to leave the house in these things. And again, maybe it’s just me, but I pop a pair of LuLaRoe leggings on and instantly look like the really sexy love child of Danny DeVito and Sally O’Malley. For the record, these were hand-me-downs/ups/overs. Whatever, my sister gave them to me.
Hot and sweaty is something I’m good at. It’s basically a way of life for me. However, if the temperature is above 50 degrees, I can’t even hang out in those super soft, super unflattering leggings. The 2 hours I had them on this morning were a terrible idea. I changed out of my At Home Leggings, and into my Leaving the House Workout Pants, which Justin says are just as unflattering, but he can’t be trusted–he wears the same outfit. Every. Single. Day. I can’t believe no one has ever called him out for it!
My weather app also starts every day by sending me a warning that my allergies are going to make me want to tear my eyeballs out. Also, did you know that itchy eyeballs is now on the list of symptoms for Covid-19?! I mean, it’s more of a viral pink eye situation, than it is an allergy eye thing. But still. It’s like Alabama wants me walking around, looking like Patient Zero. “Oh. My. God. Becky. Look at her eyes. They are like, so red and swollen.” Thanks, Coronavirus, for perfectly aligning with allergy season. Tree pollen, freshly mowed grass, and wisteria from here until tomorrow.
My gosh, I’m more sidetracked than usual! Let me just get right to it.
PPE: Gloves. Face Masks. You know, the items that hospitals are begging for?! People seem to be mildly confused about how it all works.
As I pulled onto post today, to play another round of 30 Items or Less, I watched the woman driving ahead of me try to hand her ID card to the gate guard–woah woah woah, that could send us to threat level We’re All Gonna Die!!! During Coronapocalypse, you hold out your ID card so they can scan the back, and then flip it over so they can see the front. We aren’t doing the whole touching thing anymore. So yes, she was confused about the ID card scanning policy (this is why I usual get in the U-Scan line). But even more confusing was that the woman was driving around alone in her vehicle, wearing a mask and gloves. Medical grade gloves–not those vinyl food grade babies I have for tie dye and hair dye and whatever else I want to use them for. What the heck are you protecting yourself from in your car? If you have coronavirus, you can’t give it to you.
Well, that was confusing. But I guess I get it. Not everyone understands what’s going on. These are scary times. And also, 3 of the 4 cases in the county happen to be people with ties to Fort Benning, so I’m sure that has People in a Pandemic Panic.
Once at the commissary, I watched multiple cars drive through the parking lot. At least half of them were being driven by seniors wearing masks and gloves! What’s going on here!?!? There weren’t even that many people inside the store wearing PPE, and yet here are people in vehicles occupied by only themselves, wearing their PPE. I bet their trunks were also full of toilet paper. Folks, if you Panic Purchased PPE, please don’t feel obligated to wear them all day, every day. I don’t see you out and about in toilet paper ballgowns, so just keep a box for your worldly adventures, and donate the rest to a hospital!Consider it your good deed for the day–or even for all of Coronapocalypse!
My receipt is sitting in front of me at my desk–oh my god, I had 31 items! In the 30 or less aisle?! It’s a miracle the MPs didn’t come and cart me off to Commissary Jail.
As for my LuLaRoe Leggings–they will be going into hiding until cold weather is upon us again. Voluntary hot flashes are no way to start the day.
Congratulations, everyone. We made it through the first 6 months of self-quarantine….wait…crap. Let’s try that again.
Congratulations everyone! We’ve made it through the first week of self-quarantine. Here’s what I’ve noticed so far.
Nothing. Has. Changed. At least for me, but as I’ve said before, I am a Master Social-Distancer. Ask an introvert how they’re doing in self-quarantine, and chances are they’ll tell you how amazing it is that no one has dropped by unannounced, or no one has begged them to go out in the world and be social. For the extroverts who are feeling like it’s been 6 months, or maybe even closer to 6 years, just think, what you’re going through right now, is exactly how introverts have felt–forced to do things they really don’t want to do. Sorry, extroverts–you’re in our world now.
Truly though, I think there’s something wrong with my children. Not wrong, but…something is going on. The side-effects of a world without outside influences, maybe? All I know is that Monday morning when I woke up, I prayed that we made it through the week without one murdering the other. By Friday, I noticed…something. Is this…friendship?? Are they getting along?!
My darling angels, who normally spend every waking moment pushing the buttons of the other, were suddenly choosing to spend time together. They spent close to an hour yesterday reading their Pokemon Guidebooks, and no one got punched or scratched! All eyes remained firmly inside their sockets.
They have also spent hours on the trampoline, with the sprinkler (before you shiver to death, my dear Northerners, it is currently 85 and sunny here in the Dirty South).
I’ve been trying to fill their days with learning–you see, unlike the spoiled suburbanites (and possibly urbanites as well), the rural kids don’t have online learning. There is no Google Classroom for rural Alabama children. Our county gave us a list of places we could pick up a packet per student. Our county has a 22% poverty rate. To put that into perspective, Saratoga County NY (chosen because that’s where I grew up) has a 6% poverty rate; no county in NYS has a rate over 18%.
I have noticed a lot of complaining on social media, about how unfair it is that teachers are expecting their students (and parents) to do so much work, while parents are also trying to work from home. I can understand the frustration…but think about the alternative–your child could have been handed a 60 page packet, while in your head you can hear Edward R. Murrow saying, “goodnight, and good luck.”
I am not “education shaming” anyone (is that a thing? I don’t know–I’m probably just making it up). I just want you, the parent frustrated with the daily assignments to know that it could be worse. You could be waking up every morning and thinking, what am I going to attempt to teach my children once they’ve made it through their work packets? What happens if this quarantine lasts longer than these initial 3 weeks? What if I am now responsible for my children’s education, with no guidance for the rest of the school year? For eighteen months!?
You see? You are angry at teacher, who had to figure out how to work from home in under 24 hours. They did not ask for this. This isn’t necessarily something they’ve been doing all along, so chances are they had to learn and work to make this happen. While you are working from home and trying to help children with homework, teachers are are now at home, trying to teach your kids, plus however many other children are in their classroom, plus now also teaching their children. I have seen so many cool posts from educators this past week, who are trying to make the best of a crappy situation. They aren’t perfect, but no one is. We’re all doing out best, and it helps no one to jump on social media and attack teachers for not being able to teach in a classroom. Would you attack nurses for the lack of hospital beds? Would you attack the cashier at the grocery store for the total lack of toilet paper and ground beef?
Who knows. You might. But take a deep breath, and ask yourself–do they have any control over the situation?? Do any of us?
My kids just came inside to inform me that Shea was throwing shoes at Xander…but Xander also wasn’t helping to pick up the water balloon pieces from the trampoline. *Sigh* At least this week is Spring Break–I can pretend my children’s education, and therefore future, isn’t landing 100% on my shoulders.
And for the rest of you, who aren’t on Spring Break, cut these teachers some slack. For the parents who are frustrated with the amount of work they now feel teachers are requiring of them, I promise, there are no teacher kicking back and drinking a beer, while you alone juggle your added daily tasks. For the parents who might not live in a community with fancy schools and chrome books sent home with your children, or google classroom to keep your children’s brains full and growing–well, Goodnight, and Good Luck.
There are rules that need to be followed in times of Social-Distancing; as a professional social-distancer, I should know better than to break these rules.
I’m sure most people have seen the meme, reminding folks that, no matter how bored you get, do not cut your own bangs. If only that was what I did.
First, before we get to my latest Social-Distancing-SNAFU, let’s take a trip back in time. The year: 2005. My status: newly (secretly) married, unemployed, in a post-Hurricane Katrina southern town, where frequent newspaper articles discussed the resurgence of carpet-bagging. And there I was, a transplant from New York, desperate to steal jobs away from Georgians. I was broke, and jobless.
Wait–before I continue on–I just opened my blinds and discovered I have not one, but two 4ft tall DANDELIONS in my front garden bed. I guess maybe now would be the time to look up Dandelion Green recipes! These are desperate times (and this is the south).
Ok. Georgia. Late November 2005. I had just gotten off the phone with a friend in NY, who had just gotten a haircut by my hairdresser, and I was feeling a little…I guess FOMO? EOHC (That would be Envy of HairCuts…but it really doesn’t have the same ring)? I had already been cutting my own hair–it was short, and I would shave up the back and trim up the top. Fun. And. Spiky. In that moment, I decided I wanted to give a pixie-cut a try. So, clippers in hand, with the #6 guard, I made an absolutely illegal move–I shaved right down the middle of my head…and instantly shouted, “oh shit!” Too late to come back from this terrible decision, I finished the job, and texted Justin: I did something really bad.
There it is: proof that you shouldn’t make spur of the moment decisions in times of extreme social distancing. Don’t listen to the voice saying, “do it! This is a good idea! You definitely won’t regret this in 5 seconds!” That voice is a dirty liar who will cut and run the second you realize it’s a bad idea, and you will definitely regret it.
Fourteen years later, I found myself participating in once again, listening to bad ideas, instigated by the voice who is just trying to get me in trouble. “Ooh, you know what would be fun?! Let’s play around with your website, and push buttons and try things, and see what happens! Doesn’t that sound like fun?! At 9:45pm, when your husband is halfway through a 38hr shift, and you can’t sleep, because you don’t know how to adult when he isn’t home to tell you to go to bed, mistakes will be made.
…and, save. And….shit. It was gone. Well, it was there, but it was sad and broken, and kept telling me something went wrong. No kidding, something went wrong! You let me think I knew what I was doing!!! I tried and tried to think of how I could fix this: maybe if I just say, “please be there, please be there, please be there,” over and over again, it will self-correct? By 1am, I gave up. I started contemplating actual solutions that would lead to results.
This morning, I woke up with a possible solution. I didn’t love what I had to do next…
Let me just say, that, as an introvert who can lean toward the edge of recluse, I have some really amazing friends scattered around the world….and I might go years without talking to them.
That’s where I found myself this morning. I hate asking for help, when the person I’m asking is someone I haven’t spoken to in half a decade. It has nothing to do with not wanting to reach out–it just feels…selfish. “Hey, I know it’s been 5 years, and how are you, and also, please help me fix my foolish blunder.”
Friendship is a magical thing. Two hours later, with a minimal amount of help from me: “How do you normally sign in?” “I don’t know. I click the link and I’m there.” He saved my life…or at least my website. We both can appreciate a healthy amount of social distancing–introverts of the world, unite. Just–stay on your own side. “THANK YOU again for saving my blog. Let’s not wait 5 years for another technical emergency, to get back in contact.” “Technical emergency IN A PANDEMIC! Hopefully, those two will never coincide again.”
Truth be told, one lead to the other. Pompous Pandemic Pluck…and that dirty voice that needs to stop giving me bad advice!
Tom wants to help you too! I mean, he didn’t say that, really. But, I’m a parent. And I know some parents. And this could come in handy, while we’re all keeping our distance, and slowly losing our minds. Just like that, my friend is now helping you! Promoting Pandemic…Philanthropy?
I feel like I’ve been out in the world more in the last 3 days than in the last 3 decades. Don’t get me wrong, I am 100% on board with Social-Distancing. I just also have to feed my family.
Monday, I played “30 Items or Less” at the Commissary (they only allow you through self-checkout if you have 30 items or less). It’s my favorite game, in my least favorite place. I can never seem to choose the proper time to shop at the commissary–if you go too late in the day, it’ll be packed. If you go around lunch-time, you’ll get swarmed by soldiers rushing in on their lunch break to get their quick-shop on. And of course, if you’re a real glutton for punishment, you will go midday on payday. I hoped that by going early enough (even though Monday was dangerously close to payday), I could avoid the Toilet Paper Frenzy.
I have to admit something–some time in February, before the world started going to war over 2-ply, I purchased an 18 pack of mega-rolls. It was purchased in the middle of 2 weeks of nonstop rain. We’re not talking the rain that happens most places: “oh no, look at this rain. It’s been raining for days. But at least my flowers will grow.” We’re talking Chattahoochee River flooding, blinding rain, ditches that become small front yard rivers. After I brought in my food groceries, I looked like I had gone swimming in our ditch river, so I said to myself (I talk to myself…a lot…who doesn’t? No really, who are you, because I guess not everyone has internal monologue, and I want to know how you make it through the day without someone to talk to? Maybe my internal monologue is the reason I’m so ok with being alone), “I’ll just leave the toilet paper in the van until it stops raining.”
Waiting until it stopped raining turned into waiting until we actually needed it. Have you met me?? Sammi’s my name; Procrastination is my game. I’m a professional.
Days passed. Weeks passed. I knew it was back there, but…I’ll bring it in later. Until riots started breaking out over toilet paper! I jokingly said to Justin, “my car’s going to get broken into if I keep driving around with that package of toilet paper in my van!” He then gave me an ultimatum: bring the toilet paper inside, or start carrying a gun. Since I’ve never even shot a gun, I decided it would probably be safer for everyone if I just brought the toilet paper inside. Justin took one look at my 18 roll mega pack and said, “that’s it?! That’s all we have?!” Um, yes? A roll lasts probably a week (I’ve never actually paid attention to how long they last, but I feel like I only shout, “who-finished-the-toilet-paper-and-didn’t-replace-the-roll,” right around once a week.
Ok, back to Monday’s Commissary Shopping Extravaganza. Upon entering the store, I gasped at the overwhelming amount of produce! Yes! And even more amazing: they had toilet paper!!! I debated whether or not I should grab one, and decided to come back to it if I was under my 30 item limit by the end.
Of course, then I rounded the corner and realized there was no meat. It seems the only thing that scares people more than not being able to wipe their butt, is becoming vegan. Meanwhile, vegans everywhere are dancing around the fully-stocked produce section singing Captain Vegetable, and praising themselves for their life choices. I’m not judging–I have spent the last week kicking myself for not starting my vegetable garden in February like a good Alabama Hippie (does Alabama have hippies? Am I the only one? If we weren’t all trying to stay away from one another, I could probably start a support group for Bleeding Heart Liberal Hippies in Alabama…although I’d probably be the only person in the group).
Where am I? What’s happening? Oh yeah–lots of toilet paper; no meat. Moving on.
My 30 items ended up being VEGETABLES (so many vegetables), tomato sauce, milk, cheese, juice, and ice cream (the most essential item in any quarantine situation). Oh, what the heck, let’s get another package of toilet paper (it was a real “treat yo’self” moment).
Of course, then I spot the couple that had been walking around the store with twice the legal limit of paper products, in front of me at self-check out. The commissary has limited shoppers to 3 packages.
For those of you who are not military-affiliated, or have never had the joy of shopping at the commissary, they’re quite strict about shopping. I have to swipe my card at the kiosk, and show it to the cashier wandering around the self-checkout area. Somehow this couple managed to get past that, because wifey dug through her purse for 2 minutes and then whispered across to her husband, “honey, I can’t find my ID. Can I use yours??”
You’re already breaking the 3 package limit, by pretending to be unrelated, but now you’re going to break ID law?! And get away with it?! I have done commissary trips with both my Mom, and my Mother-in-Law, where, doing the mom thing, they have tried to pay for my groceries and gotten yelled at by the cashier. I believe my MIL was even told she couldn’t hand ME cash for me to then give the cashier (it’s cool–the drug deal just had to go down in the parking lot. Moms are resilient…and defiant).
If you hoard toilet paper, I will judge you. You have been warned.
Now we can skip ahead to Wednesday’s grocery trip. I hoped that Aldi would be spared from the madness, and for the most part, I was right! Except….the meat. I know, I know, we can survive without animal protein. But try telling Justin that. Are you willing to be there for him while he cries over a plate of beans and rice? I can’t handle that much drama in my life right now, ok?
The meat wasn’t entirely sold out–corned beef filled a shelf (thanks, I’ll take 2), and there were a whole 5 packages of chicken thighs. I’m not selfish or greedy, and even though I have a family to feed, I took one (the sign said I could take up to 6 of each type of meat. See what I did there? I thought about others–come on, give it a try). I then continued my shopping trip, stocking up on more than I would normally buy, but, in my defense, I’ve been playing the 30 Items or Less game since the start of 2020, trying to decrease the amount of food in my pantry. Foolish me, but who thought we would end up here??
I finish shopping, go through the checkout aisle (Ok, quick question, entirely off-topic? Are neck beards the new soul patch?? Because the cashier always has a clean-shaven face…but from his jaw line down, he’s got crazy beard things happening. I don’t know if maybe I’ve spent too much time social-distancing and am completely out of the loop? Or is he just a unique individual who refuses to conform to social norms), and spend the next 15 minutes trying to teach my children the proper way to pack a grocery bag (It’s like a beautiful puzzle of cans and potato chips–preferably not in the same bag). While we’re playing this portion of Life Lessons Brought to You by Pandemic, the gentleman behind me (an adorable old German–or Austrian man, somewhere around the age of 127), asks NeckBeard how he takes his coffee. “I am going to Dunkin’ Donuts after this, and I would like to buy you a cup of coffee.” And now my heart is melting from the overwhelming kindness I have now experienced on a Wednesday.
And then….I get to the parking lot. While I’m putting my groceries in the van, I watch an older southern lady make her way across the parking lot to the kind little old man and ask for his cart. She tries to hand him a quarter, and he refused it: “please, just take the cart. I do not need your quarter.” She then says, “us old-timers, we’ll get through this. We know how to survive in hard times. Not like them, “and then she pointed at me!!!” I looked straight at her and laughed: “HAHAHA.”
As I stated earlier, if you panic-hoard toilet paper, I will judge you. If you judge me for the amount of food I purchase to feed my family, I will do my best not to slap you. There are 40 extra hours a week that my pre-teens will be “starving!” I have to plan accordingly. Yes, this looks like a ridiculous cheese hoard, but it’ll most likely be gone by Monday.
Deep breath, Sammi. Focus on the kindness.
Justin worked late–his schedule this week is right around 38 hours at work, and 10 hours at home. This is not Covid-19 related–this is just how his job is sometimes. We sat down to eat dinner, and I told him about the meat options.
“Did you buy all the corned beef??” “No–they limited you to 6 packages.” “So you got six packages of corned beef?!” “No–I got 2.” “Ugh!!! Why didn’t you get six!?” “Gosh, I don’t know Justin. I figured we both don’t need to have hypertension.”
I was tempted to supplement our animal protein with eggs…but then I remembered that Cadbury Creme Eggs don’t count. And I feel like there would be a serious increase in Justin’s Pandemic Judgement if I told him I bought Aldi out of eggs. “Sammi, what eggs? There’s only one carton of eggs in here.” “No-no. I ran out of space in the fridge, so I put them in the freezer.” “You can’t freeze….oh Sammi………no!”
Gosh, now I want to go back to Aldi and buy all of their Cadbury Creme Eggs–that’s not a Pandemic Panic Purchase…that’s just Thursday.
