Old people and phones. Nooooo! Better combination than an old person and vehicle, but still damn annoying. I could ramble on about it, but instead I will just share the conversation.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Rachel? This is Sarah."
"I'm sorry, I think you've gotten the wrong number."
"Oh. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Bye."
1 minute later....
"Hello?"
"Hello. Is Rachel there?"
"Ma'am, I just spoke to you. This is still the wrong number."
"Well, is this number 555-5555?"
"Yes, that's the number. But, my name is Shelley and this has been my number for about 6 years now."
"No, this is the number that I've written down for my friend Rachel. Are you sure this is number 555-5555?"
"Yes ma'am, I'm sure."
"Well, I don't know why I would've written this number down if this wasn't the right number...."
"I tell you what, if I see Rachel, I'll let her know you called."
Yeah, my page is different. And halfway done.
I have never been indecisive. All of a sudden, I hear myself saying "I don't know" more than I care to. It's gotten way out of hand. For the last 15 minutes I've been trying to figure out what snacks to take for the kids to Nashville. Yesterday, I poured laundry detergent in the washing machine and had this overwhelming feeling to undo it and use a different kind. I immediately rinsed all the clothes and used the superior detergent (but today it is the inferior).
Like I said, seriously out of hand. I think all these new limits on my life are making me crack. Or maybe this is normal and it will pass. Please tell me this is normal. No really, in the comment section.
**Like I said, the blog is barely functioning. Don't judge me.
I had my niece who just turned 11 this past weekend, and I bought a sock monkey kit for her birthday. Lets go over my thought process. Hmm, sewing is a valuable skill. It's cheap, and can be easily be stopped/started. What should have been the first and only thought: I have no idea how to sew.
I did sew something a few months back. I went to the store, bought a needle and thread. Lost said needle somewhere in the parking lot. Went back to purchase a second needle. Got home, picked up that duvet and button and showed that button who was boss. Of course, in the morning, the button had managed to make it's way on the floor. Apparently, you have to make a knot or something outlandish on the thread somewhere. Still not clear on that.
So, you guessed it. I tried to teach Trista how to make a sock monkey and completely failed. I would put the needle through the fabric and pull all the way through. Then go back up, and pull all the way through. I finally surrendered my project to my mom. She weaved in and out through the fabric without ever pulling the needle through to the other side several times, THEN she pulled. Genius!
Some days I sit and daydream of putting on my skirt and apron and dusting the house while my well behaved children color quietly at the table. I pull my muffins out of the oven (that are perfectly healthy, of course) and join my children and sew Madeline a dress.
Then I snap back to reality.
In the time it took me to type this, Jack has ripped Madeline's painting we spent forty five minutes on this morning. Madeline has thrown a tantrum because of ripped painting. I have nursed Lincoln. Twice. And the lions have been caught on a jungle adventure (read: the cats that have recently started hating each other have been trapped in a box).
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Ahhh, August. One of my favorite times of year. New clothes, new back packs, new start, and the fair. This year, mom stayed with Madeline and Jack while the rest of us went to the fair. We rarely get a chance to be so carefree with Cali. Keeping M & J from running in front of a cars, playing with knives, or clogging up the toilet with legos usually gets in the way.
First stop: dinner at a local restaurant's booth. We order our sweet teas and joke around. The weather is perfect. It had been over one hundred degrees the last several days, but today was in the eighties. Soon after I sat down, a moth landed on my arm. When Cali started screaming, "Kill it!! KILL IT!!! Ohmygod, ohmygod!!", I realized I had a golden opportunity on my hands.
"Cali", I calmly explained, "All life has value. This moth has value just as humans do. This moth just being here is a sign of a healthy environment. Think of the transformation this moth went through. From the egg, to becoming a caterpillar, to the chrysalis, and now a moth. How amazing! And this moth serves a purpose in the circle of life. Not only does this moth have value on it's own, it is a food source for birds."
Her face softened. I hoped this lesson would stay with her. I gently put the moth on the bench. Cali asked why it wasn't flying away. I told her when we got up, if the moth had not moved, we would take it somewhere dark and out of the way. The moth was barely moving, because there were several hours until the moth would be active. "Moths are nocturnal", I said.
I applauded myself for making a positive impact, no matter how small. As I leaned over to hug her, an older man plopped down beside me on the bench. On the moth. On the now-dead moth.
"Cali, let this be a lesson to you. Laziness just killed that moth."
Monday was Madeline's first day at soccer practice. Everything was going great. In fact, Madeline was kicking ass. She did as well or better than the other children, despite them having played two seasons already.
The coach instructed, "Everyone stand in a line!". Madeline looked around while all the other kids formed a line. Again, the coach asked the children (Madeline) to form a line. I yelled across the field to follow directions, and then it hit me: she has no idea what a line is. I relayed my epiphany to the coach, and in turn he explained to her the purpose of a line.
How did Madeline feel about a line? Silly! If she's in the back of the line how will she see?! She will just wait her turn while standing next to which ever child is in the front of the line. Thanks, but no thanks. She will not be participating in this line concept.
And then the moment I had been dreading. The prayer.
For the record, I have no problem with a Christian organization saying a prayer, I just didn't know how to explain prayer to a three year old. This is the same child who, by her own accord, has decided that Jesus and Santa Claus are make believe brothers. She drew her conclusion by observing they are both uber important on Christmas, neither of them are ever seen, and they both have beards. I can get with that reasoning, sounds logical to me. Since I couldn't figure out what to say, I said nothing at all. This was not my shining moment as a parent. I figured out years ago that the easiest way out is usually the wrong path to take.
Back to the prayer. The coach is kneeling, as are the children with their eyes closed in a circle. Wait. Let me rephrase. All of the children, minus Madeline. As the sun is shining on the team the coach begins the prayer. Madeline works her way through the circle and taps on the coach's shoulder. She's asking (loudly) what's going on. What is a prayer?! Why does he have his eyes closed? She's talking to him and he is being a little rude.
The prayer was short. After practice the coach made an announcement, "If anyone is not religious, and does not practice prayer, please let me know so that we can work something out."
Do you think that could have been directed towards me?
It was one of those days. No, not the notorious bad day. The very-rare-but-oh-so-appreciated fabulous day. Oh, you aren't lucky enough to have those? Let me elaborate.
I woke up well rested and in a good mood. I thanked His Noodliness while devouring a perfectly cooked bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. With my gorgeously groomed hair and freshly painted toenails, it was clear that today was a day to be out in the world. With my inflamed ego, I ran my errands. I smiled at everyone I met. I even laughed at everyone's jokes while I flipped my hair and wished every day could be like this one.
Last stop of the day: gas station. I fill my car up with gas and head home. As I'm driving home, a 20-something year old guy speeds up to ride parallel to my van. Let's call him Chuck. He's smiling, talking, and gesturing. So I smile and turn my attention back to the road. Chuck doesn't like this. He keeps smiling and mouthing something, all while speeding up and slowing down to match my speed. I flip my hair, roll my eyes, and laugh. The fake laugh. The you-are-so-sad-right-now pity kind of laugh. Chuck is relentless, he won't stop and now it's bordering on creepy.
At the red light, I roll down my window and shout, "I'm married! Not interested, but thanks for the offer!". I was prepared for a "Whatever", maybe even a "Fuck you". Instead I hear, "I'm not interested in you. either. Thanks. Your gas tank is open."
Well, buh-bye ego. It was fun while it lasted.
Olly Olly Oxen Free
