Since Birdie was coming home last weekend and it was the first time we'd left Tucker at home AND because we didn't want Mimi to have to stay any longer than necessary (she was granddog sitting Tucker for us)--whew!--the husband and I decided to drive home after staying at the wedding reception for a couple of hours. (That's right- you don't have to be young to do dumb things).
People who are used to being asleep by 10:00 at night probably shouldn't begin a 5 hour drive home at that time. But we did. And we used the GPS on my phone to do it.
If you can tell in the photo below, the directions highlighted in BLUE is the route the husband wanted to take. It's the way we usually travel home when we're in that general area of NC. Of course, we'd never started from this particular place in NC, but still. The directions highlighted in PINK is the route mapped out for us by my GPS. They make a nice oval shape, see? And there's less than 30 minutes difference between them in the amount of time it takes to arrive home.
Which would have worked out fine. If our brains had left well enough alone.
That first stretch of road in blue- that starts near Greensboro, NC? Yeah. That's called 73 S, 220 S AND 74 E. That's right. ONE road- THREE names. The husband was not amused. And it's sort of like a 4-lane back road. No lights-except the moon. No gas stations. No hotels/motels. Just farm land. Probably really pretty during the day. Oh, and no service---or, intermittent service. At best.
So, this road goes on FOREVER and I'm not getting service. The husband continues to not be amused. He is also not amused by the signs we are seeing as to which towns we'll be traveling through...eventually. Over to my side, meanwhile, I am quietly tapping the hell out of my phone (as if that will make service miraculously appear) and yelling at it in my head. Brilliant is what I am.
FINALLY, we spot a place to pull off- it's closed, but there is light.
The husband: "I don't think this thing is taking us in the right direction."
Me: "It's just not taking us home the way you're used to going."
The husband: "I think it's taking us WAY out of our way to get home."
Me: "I think you're letting your mind focus too much on the signs instead of just letting the GPS do it's thing."
The husband: "Fine. But I think it's a piece of crap." (He really did say crap. We had not yet entered the cursing phase).
He gets back on the road and we continue on.
When we finally hit civilization, the husband's lack of amusement intensifies. Greatly.
The husband: "What the fudge (no, he did not say fudge)?! We're in (explicative) ROCKINGHAM?!
Me: (crickets)
The husband: What the hell are we doing in (explicative) ROCKINGHAM?!
Me: (crickets- but thinking: What the hell are we doing in (explicative) ROCKINGHAM?!
Meanwhile, my phone is about to die. Yep. Insult to injury. Are you wondering why I didn't just plug in into the car charger? Well, I'll tell you why I didn't just plug it into the car charger. Because DoodleBug never returned the car charger when she borrowed it to go to All Good last summer THAT'S why. So I have to go in and out of the navigation app over and over again.
The husband wants to look at a 'real' map.
The husband: "I need to look at a map."
Me: "Ok, get one when you get coffee." (This is our first stop for coffee because, up until this point, there have been zero opportunities for coffee stoppage)
The husband: "I think there's one in the side pocket of the door."
Me: "Great." (thinking to myself--what year was it made?)
He looks at the map but says little to nothing.
The phone GPS is still telling us to stay on the same road. We're going in the right direction. I tell this to the husband who replies with, "Hrmph." Or something like that. We continue. And we're back in the middle of nowhere. To turn around would mean going back at least an hour in the other direction.
We come to another civilized area and pull into a gas station. The husband wants to look at the map. Again. Because, you know, the roads might have changed since the last time he looked.
And it is decided that we will NOT continue as per the GPS instructions but, rather, go about 50 minutes off the track and then, now get this---right down to the very town that the GPS was sending us where we would take I-95 (which is a straight shot to I-26 which is a straight shot into Charleston).
See the map below? We were in Bennettsville and just needed to head straight down to Florence and hit I-95. He wants to go over to Dillion and THEN down to Florence.
Guess who's cursing now?
Anyway, we made it home by 3:00 am. Which was only about an hour and a half later than we should have arrived. Of course, some of this is attributed to the 4 stops for coffee. And then the stops for letting the coffee out. And let me just say, once again, that it is totally unfair that guys can pee anywhere.
Tucker was delighted to see us. Mimi---well, she had been up at 3:00 am the previous morning welcoming Birdie home so....
I was up at 7:00 am to walk Tucker and make the breakfast that DoodleBug asked me to make in honor of Birdie's arrival.
You remember DoodleBug. The one who still has the phone charger for the car? Don't worry. We have a new one now. The husband bought it during a coffee stop so I could charge my phone. Just before we got on I-95. You know, just in case.
We had to drive 5 hours to attend the wedding on Memorial Day weekend. It was well worth the effort as a splendid time was had by all!
But, all along the way, I noticed so many signs. Of stupidity.
And not just where other drivers were concerned. The actual signs themselves were often stupid. Like the one there on the left.
Really? You have to tell people not to stop on the railroad tracks? Who doesn't know that you should NOT stop on the railroad tracks? Who doesn't know that the likelihood of getting hit by a train increases dramatically when you stop on the tracks? Who doesn't know that stopping on the tracks when a train is coming results in imminent death?
Seriously, I'm thinking that if someone is stupid enough to stop on the tracks....
And then there's the discussion between the husband and myself about the sign on the right over there.
The husband: "What the hell does that sign mean?"
Me: "I believe it means slippery when wet."
The husband: "What, so the road is more slippery in this area than others when it's wet?"
Me: "Apparently so."
The husband: "I don't think that's what it means."
Me: "What does it mean then?"
The husband: (making 's' hand movements) "Don't drive like this."
Me: "You mean swervey?"
The husband: "Yeah. I mean, what else could it mean?"
Me: "Uh, Slippery When Wet."
I think I'm beginning to understand why they make a sign that reads, "DO NOT STOP ON TRACKS"
What I learned while on the 5 hour road trip to the wedding:
There are ZERO decent radio stations once you leave the Charleston area. Thank God for iPods.
The DOT (Department of Transportation) does not give a rat's a$$ about the gazillion pot holes and sizable cracks on I-26.
Playing the license tag game is no fun without the lovelies there to play along.
The husband drives like we're in a car that's part of a video game being driven by a 14 year old boy.
Next trip will require Valium. Or a plane ticket.
It is DUMB to travel on a holiday weekend.
Women miss the hole in the toilet in public restrooms. How that is humanly possible I have no idea but they do. And it's disgusting. If I wanted urine on my toilet seat, I would go into the men's room.
The husband's driving is 100 times worse if he needs to use the restroom.
There is no sense in yelling at the GPS in your phone. It does not listen. I'm guessing that, even though the voice on that thing sounds like a female, there's actually a man in there.
The only thing I miss about living in the upstate is the way the Kudzu looks hanging off the trees.
Tips to a few certain people:
If you own a gas station near the interstate, you really should: A. Keep it clean (Not a single restroom we stopped at was clean); B. Have more than one stall in the women's room; C. Keep the toilet paper stocked; D. Have the towel option for drying hands---that blow dryer is stupid; E. Make sure the toilet seats are not broken-particularly if you insist on only having one stall in the women's room; F. Make sure the locks on the doors work; G. Make sure you have hooks on the doors for women to hang their purses/coats/whatever.
To the lady in front of us at Subway: Low calorie subway subs lose their low calorie status when you keep saying to the lady--with regards to the mayo--"More...more...more..." until you have about half a freaking bottle of the stuff on your sub.
To the DOT: Fix the damn holes and cracks.
To the people in the fast lane: When the slow guy in front of you moves to the slow lane, that is your cue to speed up or move to that lane with him.
To the young girl in the red car: Just because you're young doesn't mean you have to be stupid.
To the guy in the gray truck: When the thought of changing lanes pops into your pea brain suddenly and without provocation, you should LOOK before you ACT. Moron.
To the DOT, again: At one point we were on ONE road. It's name was (and I kid you not)- 73 South, 74 East, 220 South. We were on one road with three names traveling in two directions. Not funny. Make up your mind.
To myself: no more watching of the Final Destination movies if that's all you can think of when you pass a logging truck.
To the DOT (yep, one more time): Why can't we have pretty flowers in the medians on SC roads like they do in NC? If we're going to have to suffer with the roads being in treacherous conditions at least we can enjoy the scenery.
There will be more about the trip home soon...stay tuned---
Did you travel over the holiday weekend? Or did you play it smart and stay at home?
I don't care for it. Most people know that about me.
I don't like to lose when I'm playing a game of any kind. I don't like the team I'm pulling for to lose. I don't the candidate I'm voting for to lose. I don't even like to lose a heated debate.
When I was really little, I was probably one of those kids who would take her ball home if things weren't going my way. I don't recall being like that. But I probably was.Though I'm not quite that bad now.
As a matter of fact, I'm very proud to say that I've gotten much better in my method of accepting a loss. I am capable, now, of keeping my disappointment to myself. Sort of. As long as you can't read my face or my body language. At least I don't carry on like a lunatic anymore. Or make the body language really easy to read.
Mostly.
However. As much as I hate losing, I am no where near as bad as Hubs used to be. And he's an even worse winner. When I win, I'm content with the win itself. I do not have the need to rub anyone's face in it. The win, in my opinion, speaks for itself. No so for the husband that lives in this house.
In all our years- 28- I've played Monopoly with him once. Just once. He won. Bad enough. But then he proceeded to rub that win in my face. Huge mistake. HUGE.
He's much better about losing now. But the winning? It has not changed one little bit. He will sit there with that smug little hahaIbeatyou look on his stupid face and that annoyingashell-youlost grin. And then he opens his mouth and acts like he's accomplished some great and wonderful feat that is going to change the world.
Good thing I win most of the time. :)
What kind of winner- or loser- are you?
AND----
You still have time to enter to win a quart of Tropical
Traditions Gold Label Coconut Oil! Just go to the post right HERE.
This
post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY. The prompt that inspired this post was: "How did you feel as a child when you lost a game."
Yesterday morning, just like every weekday morning, I awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking and someone gently stoking my hair---no, wait, that was the dream....to the annoying sound of Hubs' alarm. Tucker was so excited as he knows that, once that alarm sounds, someone is going to be getting out of bed (translation: I am going to be getting out of bed).
Normally, after sticking his tongue up my nose, in my ear, and across my closed eyes, Tuck sits patiently and waits for me to get up continues to lick me all over my face until I get up and get dressed for our morning walk. Once I am dressed, he sits and stares at me with such a hopeful stare until I put my shoes on to open the door.
Yesterday was different. Yesterday, he wanted to go out into the backyard.
I heard the neighbor's dogs barking but that's not unusual. They love to bark at the squirrels sitting up in the tree looking down and taunting the poor things. Assuming they were continuing with their morning ritual, I let Tuck out to join in the fun.
But Tuck didn't leave the deck. And he went all kinds of crazy with his barking. Something was out there!
I did the only thing I could think of and ran into the bedroom to get Hubs up.
"Quick! There's something out on the deck and Tucker is going NUTS barking at it and so are the neighbor dogs!"
"Great. What is it?"
"I don't know what it is! I'm NOT going out there!"
"Where's all your feminist talk now?"
"Getting wild animals out of the yard is on YOUR list of things to deal with, you HAVE to go! There's NO TIME for this, get UP!"
Hubs rushed out of bed and dashed out the back door onto the deck nearly fell out of bed and stumbled out the back door almost falling onto the deck.
I was panic sicken as Tucker became an even braver ten pounder once Hubs was out there with him. Hubs grabbed my little brave pup and handed him in to me whereupon I slammed the door shut calmly closed the door to only a crack so the wild animal would not be able to come into the house.
And then I hear--- "It's a possum." Followed by, "Where's the shovel?"
"You're NOT going to kill it, are you?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Catch it and let it go somewhere else but DON'T kill it!"
"That's what Tucker wanted to do."
"Tucker is a dog."
Hubs came in, got dressed and went back out to deal with the possum.
Tuck and I stood loyally by his side watched from the safety of the study window for the next half hour as Hubs methodically blocked all exits from the AC unit (the killer possum had escaped the deck and run under the unit) leaving only two openings--one from which he could gently poke the wild animal and the other rigged for the thing to run into a five gallon bucket.
I'm relieved and happy to report that the possum has been relocated to a woodsy area and no longer wrecking havoc on our happy little home.
And Hubs was only 20 minutes late for work.
Because I didn't want him to kill the possum-- and he honored my wishes. Which is just like him.
He truly is my hero.
Even when he wears his cap backwards.
I'm linking up with FOLLOW FRIDAY 40 AND OVER with JAVA over at NEVER GROWING OLD
It's a difficult enough task to try and lose massive amounts of unwanted weight without obstacles or sabotage attempts. But, when you add those ingredients to the pot, the odds are simply stacked against you.
I finally became aware of the many ways that I sabotage myself when I'm losing weight and have, for the last 67 days, averted all attempts of self-sabotage. This is good news! I've been treading carefully and paying close attention and NO SELF-SABOTAGE!
Unfortunately, that's not the only form of sabotage causing me to be on alert.
His name is HUBS. And he is a saboteur. And I want to SMACK him. That's right. I want to SMACK him. Saturday evening, Hubs went to the grocery store for a couple of things so that I could make sandwiches for him and two buddies to take with them fishing on Sunday. It was his BFF's birthday and, when they go fishing, I make food since it's BFF's boat. Nice trade off--they get to go fishing and I get a peaceful Sunday to myself.
My first clue SHOULD have been the number of bags he brought in from the grocery store. One doesn't really need FOUR grocery bags when purchasing ONLY some hoagie rolls and chips (being a realist, I did not expect him to bring home the food choices I would have made for the fishing excursion). I prepared the sandwiches and then noticed a few things--Hubs brought into MY HOUSE potato chips for the fishing trip AND to keep here. And tortilla chips--not the whole grain ones either, the regular ones. Upon further inspection, there are two, TWO, boxes of Ritz crackers in the pantry and TWO boxes of chocolate covered ice cream bars--the ice creams are cherry and butter pecan (AND I'm pretty sure I smelled chocolate in the candy form also).
"Why do you bring this stuff in the house?" I foolishly ask.
"Because I like it. And because the girls like to have the ice cream when they come over."
"You're trying to sabotage me."
"I'm not trying to sabotage you. You don't have to eat it."
"No. I don't. But when I'm stressed the temptation is overwhelming."
"What about my stress level?"
WTH?
Now, it is true that the girls will eat ice cream IF it's in the house. And I do buy it IF I know they're going to be here to eat it and take home the leftovers.
HIS stress level? It's HIS stress level that elevates MY stress level because when Hubs is stressed, he's not happy until he's got everyone else upset (and the majority of his stress comes from his crazyashell family). Geez.
But, the "You don't have to eat it" part was a pisser. One would think (Ok, I would think) that if there was no support or encouragement anywhere else in the world that one's spouse would provide both. Sadly, no.
I'm on my own with this (except for the girls however, THEY DON'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE). But that's ok. Because I really feel that I can withstand it all...this time. I am determined. At least I am today.
In the past, I have personally sabotaged myself. I've also been sabotaged by a homemade oatmeal raisin cookie (seriously, my dad makes the best freaking oatmeal raisin cookies you've EVER had in your life). But I will NOT be sabotaged by anyone or anything this time.
So I blow raspberries in the general direction of the ice cream bars, the Ritz crackers, the tortilla chips and the potato chips (and at Hubs as well).
There are times when it seems that the main objective for Hubs is to annoy me. I ask the dear a simple ‘yes/no’ question and I get a dissertation. God love him, he still knows very little about email and needed to print something off. It didn’t go well. So, stupidly, I ask, “Do you need me to go into your email and print those forms off for you?”
“No, I was just going to print them off and call those people and tell them blahblahblahblah. And then I needed to blahblahblahblah because if I don’t then blahblahblah.
“Ok, all I asked was if you wanted me to get it printed off for you. I don’t need all of that information.”
“And then I wanted to forward something to Breezy but I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy,” I begin, “all you have to do is hit the ‘Forward’ button, type in the email address, and click send.”
“Ok, so I just click the ‘Forward’ button and it should send?”
“No, you have to type in the email address and click ‘Send.’”
“Oh, ok. So, click the ‘Forward’ button, put in the address and it should go?”
“Yes but you have to click ‘Send’ before it will actually SEND IT.”
Birdie came over for lunch on Sunday and to do some laundry (read: let me do some laundry for her) and we all played a game of Farkle!. It’s a fun game involving dice but it’s different from Yahtzee. Whenever it’s Hub’s turn, he has to analyze his roll. For example, let’s say he rolls two 3s, two 6s, one 5 and one 2. He will look at them for at least 10 seconds (the amount of time that the rest of us have already picked up the dice we don’t want and have rolled our second roll), put his finger on the 2 and say, “If this 2 was another 5, or (as he moves his finger from the 2 to the 5) if this 5 was a 2, I would have 1500 points.” Yes, we know this. But it wasn’t so why the hell is he even mentioning it? I have no idea. He does this every single time he rolls. I don’t know whether to call him ‘Mister State the Obvious' or 'Mister Take up too much dang time discussing irrelevant points.’
BestSonInLawEVER (except Sunday when I called him SonInLawWhoIsNOTFunny) took a picture of Breezy and sent it to Deanie with the caption: “Breezy’s new haircut. Drastic.” Deanie sends it to me and Breezy has had her hair cut really short and IT LOOKS FANTASTIC! So I send her a text: OMG! I LOVE your hair! And she sends me one back: “It was a wig! LOL” So, SonInLawWhoIsNOT Funny took the picture and sent the message but never told anyone that it was a wig. Breezy: “He was trying to fake you guys out. Guess it worked. LOL” (Oh yeah, he’s real darn funny like that—can’t imagine the fun he’s going to have when babies start coming along). I share the story with Hubs (including the part about it being a wig and a joke and show him the picture.
“It looks really good!”
“Yes, but it was a joke.”
“So she didn’t have her hair cut?”
WTH?!
What exactly is it Hubs hears when I open my mouth to speak?
Last summer I asked, “Can’t you take a couple of those barrels and make rain barrels out of them for watering the garden? Oh, and can’t we get one of those flats hoses with holes in it to lay across the raised beds for watering? It takes hours to get them saturated.” Sunday, Hubs said, “We need to set up a couple of rain barrels and get some sort of irrigation going for the raised beds.” Really? What a freaking cleverashell idea. On Wednesday he says, "How about looking up on the internet what I need to set up some drip irrigation for the garden. The raised beds aren't even getting wet three inches down and it takes hours to get them wet all the way through."
I must be speaking in a foreign tongue.
This is the 24th day of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) for the month of March. The theme for this month is: in a word! My chosen word for today is: ANNOYING because that's what Hubs is being this week. Just keep looking for the humor, right?
It’s innate with children. I’m almost certain of it. I’m also pretty sure that it still functions properly even when the kids grow up, move out and yes, even if they move far away. It begins very early on in their sweet lives. Almost as soon as the little darlings make their appearance, the radar is in fine working condition. Should a new mom actually get a minute or two to sit and have a cup of tea or read a sentence in a book or clean something what happens? Child Radar kicks in and infant awakens immediately. As the years speed by like a flash of light go by and the children get older, Child Radar remains intact. If mom has been invited out for some shopping and lunch with friends while the little darlings are in school, the minute her food arrives at the table, one of the blessings calls from school needing to come home. Perhaps mom has just gotten the kitchen floor mopped. It is right at the second she finishes that Child Radar kicks in and everyone comes tromping in the house for a snack. Even now our college darlings know when I’ve been to the grocery store. Not because I go the same day every week, but because of Child Radar. Every single time my BFF L calls me, Deanie beeps in. Every. Single. Time. It’s gotten to the point that, when on the phone with BFF L and I say, “Hold on, I have a beep,” BFF L says, “Tell Deanie I said HI!” Child Radar. And just a few days ago it was Deanie who called and said, “I don’t have enough money to get Becks his heart worm preventative this month. Do you think it’ll be ok to wait and give it to him Feb. 1st when I get another check?” Sounds innocent enough doesn’t it? Well, think again. I was, the very moment she called, on the road heading towards the vet to pick up Tucker’s heart worm preventative for the month. That’s right, Child Radar. Needless to say, I picked up a pill for Becks and dropped it in the mail to DC (and that’s called mom-enables-child-radar-continuation).
Oh, and don’t be fooled. Husbands possess this innate trait as well- Hubby Radar or are-you-freaking-kidding-me-because-you-are-old-enough-to-know-better radar. That’s right. Hubs can be sitting in front of the television engrossed in a thrilling episode of the evening news and suddenly, as soon as I am engrossed in a wonderfully entertaining movie, the evening news is over and he has to have a conversation of vital importance with me such as, “Did you get lemons at the grocery store today?” Hubby Radar. And let’s not forget the nightly dish washing routine --I finish eating and begin cleaning up the kitchen while Hubs becomes entranced in the television. Without fail, just as I’ve finished the very last dirty dish, in he walks with his dinner dishes. Hubby Radar. This Hubby Radar also goes off whenever I begin reading a book, concentrating on a new recipe, writing...
Since Child Radar seems to turn into Hubby Radar for the male of the species, I wonder if, in women, itturns into Women’s Intuition. In some instances we don't even get any obvious signs when our intuition kicks in. It’s just there, sometimes more obvious than others, alerting us to dangers and joys. It’s how we women ‘know’ things before we’re told about them. It’s also how we are able to correctly size up someone immediately- how our first impressions are rarely, if ever, wrong. And it tunes us into Red Flag Alerts.
“Mom has eyes in the back of her head!” --a statement of amazement spoken by my youngest brother one evening while he was sitting on the porch leaning back in the chair and mother, with her back to him, told him to “put the chair on all four legs before you fall back and crack your head wide open.” You should have seen the look on his face- complete and utter amazement.
Of course, when we grow up and have kids of our own, we quickly come to realize that our mother’s did not have an extra set of eyes in the back of their heads, they were just observant. And we were kind of stupid. I mean, seriously, had we thought about it, we wouldn’t have done some of those things with her so close by. Especially with a mirror in front of her. Or when we were upstairs fighting and she, who was downstairs, yelled up, “What are y’all doing up there?” And we yelled back, in the sweetest of tones, “Nothing!” -- had absolutely nothing to do with the sounds emanating from the second floor.
When our girls were growing up, there were several instances where they wondered how I was privy to their shenanigans. I could see Breezy’s reflection in a frame when she was jumping on the bed one afternoon and I reminded her that she was not supposed to jump on the bed. She plopped right down from mid-air and, in a hushed tone, asked her sister, “How did she know I was jumping on the bed?” I always used those opportunities to say something like, “Mommies see all and hear all.” Of course, it’s more like ‘Mommies can put 2 and 2 together quite nicely.’
I have an absolute favorite example of the ‘Mom has eyes in the back of her head’ scenarios. I love it because the two daughters involved were teenagers. And there was really nothing better than using this ability on a teen or two—it’s just so much FUN! Breezy was a freshman in college and home for Christmas break. Deanie was a junior in high school, Birdie a sophomore. Deanie had plans to go with some friends, one of whom I was not completely thrilled about, to a concert downtown. My concern lessened somewhat when Breezy said that she and boytoy at the time were going to go with them. Now, my concern was only slightly lessened because my red flag indicator starting flashing. Why would Breezy and boytoy be doing this? Hmmm….. So I suggest to Deanie that perhaps Birdie would like to accompany them as well. And her response was no. Not too surprising that a sister wouldn’t really want her younger sister along, right? Wrong. Deanie was always up for taking her sister along. But not this time. Hmmm….the red flag indicator is beginning to flash brighter and faster. I decide to let them go. I only have suspicions at this time (and the red flag indicator) but, not any real solid evidence.
And, maybe, things would have just been left alone except that Deanie lost her cell phone and the stories of how that might have happened were many and varied (you’d think they would have at least compared their stories, yes?). But no. Breezy goes back to school and I decide to turn to the good old stand-by rule of ‘give them enough rope and they’l l hang themselves.’ Now, so far what we have are two red flag warnings and a multitude of stories so filled with holes that they couldn’t even resemble swiss cheese. What’s a mother to do? What I had put together in my mind’s eye is that Deanie and friend-I-didn’t-particularly-care-for had planned on doing something, perhaps, like drinking. Why else would she have been throwing up in boytoy’s car after the concert in Wendy’s parking lot—Breezy said it was because Deanie had gotten a stomach bug while they were out (Really? Because I’ve never really heard of a stomach bug that only lasted 4 hours or less but, oh well…ROPE.) and that her cell phone must have dropped out while she was throwing up in the parking lot. But they were looking in boytoy’s car for the phone. Next story, Deanie had thrown up in the car and they had to stop and clean it out. What? Wait…more ROPE.
Life continued for a few weeks- everyone back in school, normal activities, mom’s mind still stewing…and then, Breezy comes back home. And opportunity? It presented itself. Breezy and I were talking about this and that and suddenly, there it was:
Breezy: “Did Deanie find her cell or get another one?”
ME: “No, she didn’t find it. Dad is deciding about another one.”
Breezy: “Well, is he going to let her have one?”
Me: “I hope so. I like being able to keep up with y’all and knowing that you can call for help if need be.”
Breezy: “Dad should get her another one.”
Me: “Well, it would have been best had she not decided to drink and lose it to begin with.”
Breezy: “Who told you!?”
Me: “You just did.”
Ah, yes. Patience can be a mother’s friend.
Recognizing red flag alerts has been relatively easy. However, listening to my inner voice, my Women’s Intuition, has not always been a strength of mine. Or, maybe it had not really kicked in until I started having children. But once it came out and knocked me in the head with a 2x4 with obvious evidential support, I’ve stood at attention to it ever since.
During our very early years of marriage, Hubs and I lived in a small hovel of a structure behind his parents’ landscape nursery. Attached to the left side of the hovel was an old greenhouse no longer in use. There was a door off the house that opened into the greenhouse but it had been sealed off years ago. We only had Breezy at this time and, one Saturday, I had the uncontrollable urge to rearrange her room. It was going to be a busy day filled with errands, shopping, and lunch out. But my intuition was nagging me like crazy! So, before doing anything else that day, I let my intuition lead me into Breezy’s room where it insisted that I rearrange the furniture. Since I ‘had’ to rearrange furniture anyway, the idea to flip her mattress came flooding into my mind. I removed the sheets and, as soon as I lifted up one corner of the bed there, right there, on the box spring was a small, coiled up snake. No matter whether it was a harmless snake or not because I HATE THOSE THINGS. To me a snake is a snake is a snake. Oh it was horrible as that nasty thing hit the floor and slithered its way around the room! I threw the trash can on top of it, ran out of the room and slammed to door behind me. OMG! I HATE THOSE THINGS! I called Hubs who came immediately and searched EVERY WHERE for that #@$% snake. It was nowhere to be found. Hubs had me describe it to him and he said it was probably a garden snake. WTH does ‘probably’ mean? He searched and searched some more while I took Breezy to my mother’s for a couple of days so he could make sure that darn thing was not in the house. All turned out fine. The snake never reappeared. We moved into a small, but cozy, house with no greenhouse attached to the side.
There have been numerous instances of these intuitive moments through the years. And, any time that I had the urge to put it off or ignore it, the snake incident would pop up in my mind and I would immediately stand at attention. I have also found intuition handy when it comes to picking teams to win big games- the Super Bowl and filling out March Madness brackets for example. Oh, no. Not for money. And I'm not always right. It's just for the pure satisfaction of getting it right while Hubs, and now BestSonInLawEVER, get it wrong.
If you decide to invite a sweet little doggie into your empty nest, your daily life might go something like mine:
5:00- comment to self, Crap, it’s 5:00
Tucker looking out study window
5:15- get up for quiet blog time
6:00- listen to Hub’s alarm
6:15- listen to Hub’s alarm
6:30- listen to Hub’s alarm; listen to Hubs make his morning noises as he heads for bathroom which I can hear clearly even though I’m on the other side of the house (in his defense, it is a small house); make fresh juice in our awesome juicer for Hubs
6:45- tell Hubs to drink fresh juice made in our awesome juicer since I did go through the trouble to make it.
7:00- Make sure he has his lunch and tell Hubs good-bye; clean up our awesome juicer mess
7:05- get dressed for the day
7:10- ask Tucker if he wants to go out; go to computer for some blog reading time while waiting for it to warm up enough to take Tucker for a walk; get stared at by Tucker until time to go for a walk.
8:00- tired of waiting for it to warm up and getting stared at by a dog, take Tucker for a walk.
9:00-9:30- come back from walking Tucker and let him out in back yard to scout for squirrels; replenish bird seed if needed
Tucker begging squirrel to come down
9:30- feed Tucker; prepare and eat my breakfast
9:45- start laundry if needed; let Tucker out to chase squirrels; begin cleaning up
9:50- stop cleaning and let Tucker back in house
10:00- stop cleaning and let Tucker out to chase squirrels; check feeders for birds; take pictures if feasible
10:10- stop cleaning and let Tucker back in house
10: 30- stop cleaning and let Tucker out to chase squirrels; check feeders for birds; take pictures if feasible
10:45- stop cleaning and let Tucker back in house to chase and bark at vacuum cleaner
11:00- put vacuum cleaner away and let Tucker out to chase the stupid squirrels; more blog time
11:15- stop blogging and let Tucker back in house
11:30- stop blogging and let Tucker out to chase the dang squirrels; check feeders for birds; take pictures if feasible; wonder when Hubs is going to install a doggie door like he said he would.
11:45- stop blogging and let Tucker back in house
Squirrel saying, "Hell to the no!"
12:00- lunch
12:30- let Tucker out to chase those annoyingashell squirrels
12:45- let Tucker back in house
1:00- let Tucker out to chase freaking squirrels; wonder why Hubs even bothers to say he will do something if he’s not going to do it; Wii Fit time
1:15- stop Wii Fit to let Tucker back in house
1:30- stop Wii Fit to let Tucker out to chase damn squirrels; considering if, perhaps, the reason Hubs has not installed doggie door he said he was going to install is because letting the dog in and out all day long does not affect him at all.
1:45- stop Wii Fit to let Tucker back in house
2:00- reward myself with a game or two of Wii bowling; let Tucker out to chase the squirrels; wonder how to go about acquiring gun for squirrels
2:15- Let Tucker back in house; check email
2:30-stop checking email and let Tucker out to chase squirrels; wonder if people still eat squirrel stew; return to emails
2:45- stop checking email and let Tucker back in house; resume checking emails
3:00-read any new blog posts; stop reading new blog posts and let Tucker out to chase squirrels while informing Tucker I am sick and tired of letting him in and out of the house to chase the damn squirrels
3:45-resume reading blog posts; stop reading blog posts and let Tucker back in house
4:00-Give up on reading blog posts, begin knitting neck warmer for Deanie, stop knitting and let Tucker out to chase squirrels with a huge SIGH; resume knitting
4:15-stop knitting and let Tucker back in house; resume knitting
4:30-stop knitting to let Tucker out to chase squirrels; pondering the possibility of withholding sex until the doggie door is installed; resume knitting
4:45-stop knitting to let Tucker back in house; resume knitting
5:00-stop knitting to begin preparing dinner; wonder why Tucker doesn’t want to go out
5:15-let Tucker out to chase squirrels; thank God it’s almost over for today
5:30-clean up kitchen while dinner is cooking; let Tucker in house; play ball with Tucker
6:00- finish cleaning kitchen while Tucker naps
6:30- Hubs gets mauled by and plays ball with Tucker
7:00- dinner
7:30- clean up kitchen; stop cleaning up to let Tucker out to bark at possum that Hubs said he would get rid of; listen to Hubs say, “I've got to get out there and get rid of that possum.” (Ya think?)
7:45- let Tucker back in house; BLOG time
8:30- stop Blog time; let Tucker out to bark at possum that Hubs said he would get rid of; resume reading blogs
9:00- stop reading blogs, let Tucker in house; tell Tucker that is IT he is NOT going out anymore today; watch television
9:30- stop watching television and let Tucker out to bark at possum that Hubs said he would get rid of
9:45-10:00- stop watching television and let Tucker back in house.
10:00- begin journaling while Hubs watches television and Tucker sleeps.
10:05-Hubs begins snoring loudly; move to bedroom for journaling and television; Tucker jumps on bed and goes to sleep. Finally.
Now, while some of those times are somewhat approximate (trust me, there is very little exaggeration), there is a point here. The dog rules my life. A fact that is complicated by Hubs not doing what he says he’s going to do and my feeding the birds and not being able to resist photographing them. Oh, and my enabling of Tucker’s squirrel obsession. For example, I have been unable to use the long table for scrapbooking in the study because I placed said table under the window for Tucker to sit on and look for squirrels. He got up there via one of our dining chairs that I put beside the table for him. I have now moved the sofa under the window so I can make use of the long table. It’s more comfortable for Tucky now. See? Enabler.
Perhaps this routine of ours would be easier on me if I left the door open all day long. But that’s not even a remote possibility in the low-country. It’s too hot 9 months out of the year; too cold a couple of months; and, on the off chance that the weather is just right? Well, that’s just an assurance that there will be flies, mosquitoes and gnats coming inside to annoy me WAY more than letting Tucky in and out five million times a day. Every. Single. Day. And so, for now, I will continue opening and closing the door for Tucker and listening to that man who lives here Hubs say he needs to get rid of that possum and install a doggie door. Why? Because, as Walter Cronkite used to say, "(And) that's the way it is."
Being a transplant to the low-country of SC for 31 years is still not long enough to be called a ‘benyeh.’ If I stay until I’m dead I’ll probably go a ‘comeyeh’ since I am, originally, ‘from off’ (which is the upstate but, rules you know). By day I take care of my sweet little granddaughter, Baby M and do all those things I did when I was a SAHM raising four daughters which has translated to, ‘by day, I am exhausted.’ By night I blog, blog, blog, and blog some more or I sleep, depending on my level of exhaustion (do they still make Geritol?). I have a very unhealthy addiction to sweets (nearly any kind will do) and all comfort foods not covered under the ‘sweets’ category. I’m known for speaking my mind so, if you don’t want to know, don’t ask me. I love to find the humor in my empty nest life. I live life hard and smack into that brick wall almost daily because I’ve always had to learn the hard way. Why change now? I’m so glad you’ve come to laugh with me as I do this middle age, empty nest thing like a BOSS!
