Today was one of those days when my husband and I were feeling a bit goofy. Even more so than usual, and that caused trouble.
We were running some errands sans kids and enjoying ourselves. It had been awhile since we had any time out alone and we were making the most of it. After a stressful week, we practically bolted to the front door to escape the house and our parenting responsibilities for a short time. Relaxation set in almost immediately as we pulled out of the driveway with our favorite 80’s station blaring on the radio. I can’t quite recall what started it, but we soon found ourselves laughing at everything. You know, one of those giddy moods that can make even the most routine, mundane things suddenly seem hilarious. This was the type of laughter that made other people stare at you and wonder what you were on.
As we drove through the parking lot of our first destination, Stuff Mart, we waited patiently as an elderly man crossed our path in one of the store’s loaner electric scooters as he made his way to his car. We parked and walked toward the doors of the store. As we passed the car where the man with the scooter was, he was just finishing moving from the scooter to the driver’s seat. He called out to us and asked if we would be kind enough to return the scooter to the store lobby for him, and we agreed.
Now, you need to keep in mind our immature, goofy, drunk-like mood when I describe what happened next. I’m not even sure who’s idea it was (I say it was my husband’s, he says it was mine) but one of us said it would be fun to use these scooters. Well, that quickly escalated into “Let’s race these scooters” and caution was thrown to the wind. Luckily, the Stuff Mart Greeter had momentarily stepped away from his position so it was easy to get started. After agreeing on one lap around the store, we were off.
Yes, we were sober. But even sober people do dumb things sometime.
We started off neck and neck as we passed a long cardboard display of potato chips. Unfortunately, I was distracted by a cart of clearance items and slowed down to browse. My husband’s laughter brought me back to reality and I turned my attention back to the race. Luckily, the scooter I was using had a full battery and I was able to catch up to Jayson. Perturbed by my advancement, he took a shortcut through the girls’ clothing department, narrowly missing one of my daughter’s classmates who was shopping with her mother. A flash of embarrassment shot through me, but I kept on going.
As we approached the craft department, two ladies from our church stepped into the aisle, right into my path. The look of astonishment on their faces was priceless. I said the only thing that could have been said at a moment like this. “HONK! HONK!” They stepped, rather, stumbled, back as I rounded the corner, Jayson hot on my tail.
I have never know my husband to be a NASCAR fan, but he surely has been studying some races because he started to try some fancy maneuvers, complete with vroom-vroom sounds. He bumped my scooter and let out a maniacal laugh, which sent shivers down my spine. It was in that moment that I finally questioned the sanity of what we were doing and had second thoughts. But letting my mind wander like that led to my downfall.
As my attention was scolding myself for acting so foolishly, my husband made his big move. Consumed with a passion to win this electric scooter race through Stuff Mart, he cut me off. Trying to swerve to avoid him caused me to flip my scooter. As I fell, my head crashed into a tall, wire-framed cage full of bouncy balls. My head hit the floor, and my knee somehow twisted and was trapped under the weight of the scooter. Blood ran down my face from the scratches on my cheek from the wire cage. Intense pain shot through my knee. The whole moment felt it was in slow-motion. Balls from the display danced around me as I tried to make sense of what had happened.
And my husband kept going.
Don’t think badly of my husband. He did come back to check on me eventually (and announce his victory). He followed the paramedics after they arrived. By that time, a small crowd had gathered. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone, fearing I would see someone I knew. Humiliated, I was treated at the scene but refused to be transported to the hospital. I am now home, with a bandaged face and frozen peas on my knee, which is the size of a cantaloupe, and a very bruised ego.
This was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life. I can read the headlines tomorrow: “Local Woman Writes Blog for April Fools Day”.
Today is Palm Sunday. The beginning of Holy Week! The end of Lent is near! This day marks a time when Christians should focus on the Passion of our Lord. His suffering endured, the torture, the death of a cross…all for us, so that we may one day return to our Creator, our Heavenly Father.
Today is Palm Sunday. For parents, it is one of the most dreaded Sundays of the Church year. Yes, we should have all of our attention turned toward our Lord, praying and meditating, and getting all holy-like, but it is impossible when you have children. You love your children and strive to teach them good church etiquette, but that any progress made goes out the window on Palm Sunday.
Palm Sunday Mass is really beautiful, but it is LONG. If you’re lucky, your kids can handle one hour in church. At the 61st minute, however, they turn into little creatures of unknown origin determined to make you scream and get the attention of the whole congregation turned on you, including the priest. You know they were baptized. Shoot, you even splashed holy water on them as you entered the church, but that doesn’t stop kids’ behavior from becoming hellish when you expect them to be little saints. And that’s on a good day.
Also on Palm Sunday, our parish, as many others, start Mass outside, and process in, waving palms, reminding us of Jesus entering Jerusalem on a donkey. This is a very lovely, beautiful display of our faith, but it doesn’t work well with kids. You see, when you are in the church, your child is more or less confined to the length of your pew, unless you have children with a tendency for spelunking and they crawl under the pews as if exploring a cave. Even if the kids escapes your pew, there are walls to keep him/her inside. But when you’re outside, the boundaries are endless, and the little ones love to explore God’s creation and take off running. Sometimes into the parking lot. Or picking the beautiful flowers in the church landscaping that the ladies of the parish so tenderly care for.
What would Palm Sunday be without palms? Easier. Much easier for parents. When handed a palm, a child suddenly has a weapon. A sword or whip. Oh, look, little Johnny and little Bobby are having a light sabre battle with palms. How angelic! Palms can also be used as a tickling tool. Have you ever had your head bent, deep in prayer, only to feel a light, wispy feeling on the back of your neck. Sorry. That’s not the Holy Spirit touching you. It’s little ornery Susie behind you, seeking revenge for the time you shushed her seven weeks ago. Oh, yes, she can make it look like an accidental, random act, but behind that sweet little smile is a well-calculated maneuver designed to make you shiver from head to toe.
Even though my children are (mostly) beyond this point, the memories are still fresh and the embarrassment is still raw that I strongly sympathize with my fellow parents. Palm Sunday Mass is a wonderful celebration, and a great opportunity to share our faith with our families and learn and grow. Parents are just thankful it happens only once a year.
Have a blessed Holy Week!
Some people might call our family a bunch of nerds. We seem to fit the profile. Our interests and activities may be considered, by some standards, nerdy. Choir, band, dance, academic teams, Boy Scouts, video games, Legos, etc., etc. We take nature walks and visit historic sites. We like to watch Dr. Who, Star Wars, and documentaries. Our sport of choice is cup stacking.
If these things classify us as nerds…so be it!
Being a nerd in this day and age is not like it used to be. Back when I was a kid, the term “nerd” was definitely an insult. But not so anymore, thanks in part to the computer revolution and technological advances. The nerds of the past became the movers and shakers of today. And the future needs more nerds! I think we can all agree that technology is becoming a bigger part of our lives every day, and we need the mathaholics, scientists, and computer geeks.
Entertainment has changed the perceptions of the stereotypical nerd-types, too. Let’s face it, National Treasure is a nerd movie. BUT IT’S SO COOL! The contestants on Survivor could definitely use some Boy Scout skills. And there would be no Pentatonix if it weren’t for high school choir?
So nerds of the world, hold your heads up high! Be proud! Celebrate! Go see Star Wars: The Force Awakens for the sixth time! Remember, the world needs you!
Last week, Mr. Dude, my youngest son, turned 9. In honor of him and his awesomeness, I am going to list nine things I love about him.
- The cuddle-factor. Despite his manly, mature age, he is a super-duper cuddler.
- The way he talks. He can be rather tight-lipped at times, but when he’s talking about a subject he is passionate about (Star Wars, Mario, etc.), he can give in-depth detail and dialog with the best of them. There is something about his tone and vocabulary that make me think he will be a lawyer someday.
- He does things on his terms. This can be good or bad. Good in that he doesn’t give in to peer pressure. Bad when you are trying to get him to do things, like when he was potty training.
- He loves God. He seems not to be attentive in church, or even well-behaved sometimes. But he has the love. I can see it in the little things he does.
- His imagination. From the time he was little, he never played much with toys, but he played with stuff. Lately, he has been busy playing with snow shovels. We have no snow now, but I haven’t put them away for the season because he is busy using them for….some kind of play that I don’t understand.
- He is a curious child. He wants to see how things work. Maybe a future engineer?
- Legos are his thing. He has told me numerous times that he wants to be a Lego creator. Even when he has a kit, he doesn’t necessarily follow the directions, but makes it the way he wants. And each creation comes with a story.
- Mr. Dude is one smart dude!
- I love him because of the beautiful creation that God made him to be, full of love, full of wonder, full of joy.
February 29. That special day that occurs once every four years, made up of all the leftover time from other years. Because it takes the Earth slightly more than 365 days to revolve around the sun, the spare time is put in a Styrofoam takeout box each year. On the fourth year, there is enough leftover time to make a full day — LEAP DAY!
So, how does one celebrate Leap Day? I honestly don’t know. Are there any special traditions? Fireworks? Leap Day Tree? A celebratory Leap Day Meal? What would one serve at such a meal? Frog legs? (Not in this house, thank-you-very-much,) I suppose one could go around leaping all day. However, not being a rabbit, kangaroo, toad, frog, lemur, or other leaping/hopping species, this does not appeal to me.
There is one group of people who will surely be celebrating today. Happy Birthday to all the Leap Day babies! My daughter’s bestie is celebrating her third birthday! Even though she is twelve years old. I have another friend whose son was born on leap day. Once when he was a teenager, the mother and son were arguing. She told him to act his age. He snapped back, “I am. I’m THREE!”
How ever you choose to observe this day, be thankful that it exists. If not, it would be a plain, old, regular Monday, and that would stink.
Sigh. There. I said it out loud. I admit it, to myself and the world. I am a hummer. (Meaning a person who hums, not the GM built, military, vehicle.)
I have become one of those people who subconsciously hums. Have you ever been somewhere and heard random humming? And it’s annoying? That’s me. I am that annoying person. But I don’t want to be.
When I think of people who hum to themselves, I think of a little, old, senile lady, sitting in her rocking chair, stroking her cat, humming an eerily sweet tune. (The cat, by the way, is dead and stuffed. Her well-meaning nephew never told his elderly aunt that the cat died, but rather took it to a taxidermist and she never knew the difference.)
Do you know who else hums? Ax murderers. Ax murderers hum. OK, I don’t think I have ever met an ax murderer (or have I?), but I have an image of a psychotic man hunched over a grinder, sharpening his ax, fixated on his next victim, all the while HUMMING!
And that weird philosophy professor from college! He hummed!
See why I am ashamed to admit to myself that I hum? I don’t want to be counted among these type of people.
I have a couple of theories. I used to sing a lot. Sometimes, that can annoy people. Perhaps, I tried to quit my singing habit, but the music just couldn’t be silenced and came out as humming. Or maybe, because of my poor memory and inability to properly remember the lyrics, I just started humming. I can’t remember why or when it happened, but I became a hummer.
I vow, to try to curtail my annoying humming, and let it out only when I am alone. However, if you are in the grocery store and hear an irritating, wordless tune and find that it is coming from me, please give me a subtle nudge of the elbow so I can come to my senses and censor myself.
And please don’t worry, friends. I own neither an ax, nor a cat.
A few week ago, we followed a young family into church. Mom, Dad, and two young boys. The mom was well-dressed in an attractive blue dress, heels, etc. I didn’t see her face, but I’m sure if I would have, her make-up and hair would have been nicely done, too. Completing her ensemble was a green, furry backpack in the shape of Mike Wazowski from Monsters, Inc. slung over her shoulder. Now, I can’t be 100% sure, but I doubt that was her choice of accessory. I’m sure it belonged to one of her son’s.
Oh, the things we parents do for our children! How many of us have gotten an odd look or two while walking around carrying our child’s beloved blanky or stuffed animal (while the child is nowhere to be seen)? How about a burp cloth, casually slung over our shoulder? I remember walking through Stuff Mart with a big, gold glittery bow in my hair courtesy of my preschooler. She had been playing with my hair earlier and I forgot it was there until I got to the car and glanced in the rear-view mirror. Believe me, it looked much better on her for her dance recital than it did on me.
To those new to the parenting scene, it can be embarrassing. However, those days soon fade away and turn into an I-don’t-care attitude. One day I ran into a friend while running errands. The top of her shirt was covered in stickers. When I pointed it out she shrugged it off. “Oh, yeah. My daughter was sitting on my lap and putting stickers on me.” and continued on with our conversation. This mom obviously didn’t care that her chest was full of brightly colored cartoon characters. She and her daughter had shared a special one-on-one moment (hours before) and this was the result. Why should she be embarrassed by that?
That encounter with my friend helped me change my perspective on such occurrences, and I often need to reflect back on it to remind me of what is truly important. Just today, if you were at the grocery store, you would have seen me donning a cheap strand of beads my daughter won playing a carnival game. Did I think it was the best way to accessorize my outfit? Was this shiny, plastic necklace the best compliment to my green t-shirt and blue jeans? No, but the smile on my little girls face as she draped it around my neck put a smile on my face, and I’m sure that improved my look a hundred-fold.
The other morning, I was supposed to meet a friend when she called to say she would be late.
“My son left his girdle at home so I need to take it to school,” she explained. “He needs it because they have a game today.”
Inferring that it had something to do with football, I asked her to explain it to me when we finally met up. “It’s like spandex shorts with padding on the thighs and hips. Football players wear it under their uniform for protection.”
Hmm…interesting. Football players wear girdles to pad the hips and thighs. Ladies wear girdles to minimize those areas. I guess that’s why there aren’t many women playing football.
When I was a very young girl, apparently I was very fond for purses. I really don’t recall, but my mother tells stories of how I would beg my daddy for a new purse, and not being able to tell his baby girl no, he would buy it for me. Mom would get a bit miffed because I would often have toy purses which cost more than hers. As an adult, I am no longer a collector of cute handbags. I don’t care if my handbag matches my shoes. My preference is function over form and I use a purse until it falls apart.
What spurred this trip down memory lane? The other night, my own little girl came into my room with a purse she got for her birthday and eagerly wanted to show me everything that was in it. I’m not sure if this impromptu show-and-tell was initiated by a true, deep desire for her to bond with me as mother and daughter, or woman to woman, or if it was merely a 7-year old’s tactic of stalling at bedtime, but I let her empty her purse on my bed.
As I sat and listened to her pull out her treasures one-by-one, I couldn’t help but reminisce that these were the same types of objects that I found of value at her age.
If you look closely, you will find:
- little keys
- a crown charm
- a heart-shaped pencil sharpener
- a toy seal
- lip gloss
- a smiley-face eraser
- hand lotion
- a shoe string
- a bouncy ball
- a marble
- notecards with envelopes
- a yellow eraser
- a hair tie
- a hair clip
- an owl pin
- two plastic flower leis
- a die
Oh, how times have changed! Instead of being happy about Abe Lincoln’s image on a coin, I prefer it on a bill. I don’t have a marble in my purse. I lost all my marbles long ago. The precious little do-dads of childhood have now been replaced by the needs of a (somewhat) mature, responsible 45-year old woman.
I thought it would be interesting to compare the contents of the Princess’s purse and my purse. My purse contains:
- hand lotion from a hotel
- feminine hygiene products
- a wallet
- hair ties and bobby pins
- a nail file
- a tag ripped from some article of clothing
- a souvenir magnet from our summer vacation
- breath mints
- back-to-school lists (school started about 6 weeks ago)
- miscellaneous crumpled receipts
- an empty prescription bottle
- spare change
- a container of cuticle cream (I’ve been looking for that!)
- a rosary
- ink pens
- appointment cards
- a used, waded up tissue (I’m not even sure who used it)
Her stuff is fun. Mine is practical (mostly). I suppose that’s the way its supposed to be. If a kid comes to me with a boo-boo, it’s better to be able to offer a bandage than an eraser. I can’t pay for groceries with plastic leis (although I have never tried). The keys in her purse won’t work in my van.
Thank you, Princess, for the trip down memory lane. Enjoy this season of your life while your purse contents are whimsical and carefree. Boring wallets and appointment cards will be here before you know it.