Month: August 2020

Walking Into Spider-Friends

I foolishly allowed myself to give in to temptation today. Yes, I attempted not one, but two social media debates today. Hi, I’m Sammi Steeves, and I’m an addict.

I don’t even know why I allow myself to get caught up in these things. First and foremost, I love a good debate. My best friend can attest, as she has seen her husband and me battle it out well into the night. However, there is a difference between a debate, and just repeatedly slamming your head against concrete…which is what “debating” on social media usually gets me.

So, while I allow my blood to stop boiling, and let my blood pressure drop below the we’re all going to die level, let’s discuss spiders.

I know. What?! I’ve lost it…possibly.

Yesterday morning went like most. I woke up to Rufus grumbling and bringing me pants (which actually belonged to me AND weren’t sweaty and gross, so we’re making progress on that front). I went downstairs, and opened the garage to feed the–spider?!

When you live in the south, you have to pick and choose what terrifies you. Spiders now fall into two categories: Spiders that might want to kill you, and spiders that can be my friends. Wolf spiders fall into the “friends” category……most of the time.

This friendly neighborhood spider-friend was a little more than I was willing to handle at 5:30 in the morning. I am not exaggerating when I say he would have filled the entire palm of my hand, and I have pretty decent sized hands!

I have concerns…also, I brought you this sock I found. I believe you wore it to mow the lawn.

I froze. I looked at him (or her–how do you even know); it looked at me. I looked at the container of dog food, and then back at Rufus, who was looking extra concerned about the breakfast delay (although honestly, he always looks concerned). Rather than stepping past the giant wolf spider that just whispered to me, “I could eat you and no one would ever know,” I quickly reached over him, grabbed the dog food container, and slammed the garage door as he ran full speed at me!!! I nearly died. The door shut just as he reached the doorway. Maybe he was rabid, because I have never seen them run directly at a human. Hey Siri, can wolf spiders contract rabies??

With dogs fed, and my heart rate back down to normal (well, normal for me–it’s rather high, for no reason other than it likes to see me sweat), I decided that yoga was cancelled for the day. Or maybe for life. I can’t go back out there. Also, Someone better tell the cats that I can never feed them again.

No. I am better than this! I have dealt with Black Widows with more courage than this.

Shea came down for breakfast, and I tried to sucker her into feeding the cats. But, I opened with, “there’s a giant wolf spider in the garage…want to feed the cats??” She turned down that winning opportunity.

I’m not kidding, wolf spiders are all massive. But this was the Godzilla of wolf spiders. Clifford the Big Giant Wolf Spider. Arachnis Deathicus. And again, I conquered my fear of spiders a decade ago! Just ask the jumping spider who visits the living room every afternoon. We’re cool. We coexist. But this particular individual spider was just too big.

When I faced my fears and opened the garage door to feed the cats, he ran under a shelf. Since 7am yesterday, I have been praying to the spider gods every time I go into the garage: please don’t let him run out and touch my feet.

Spider Yoga is not something I am yet prepared to attempt. Thanks, Mr Wolf, you broke me.

Take Me to Court

For the past year, Justin and I have enjoyed multiple Friday morning dates. These aren’t breakfast dates, or movie dates. Oh no–these are court dates.

Let the record show that we are not criminals. We are there as witnesses. Or victims. Whatever you want to call us. It doesn’t really matter why we’re there (I mean, it matters to us, and someday when this is all over, I will be happy to share). The point is, we’re there.

It was exactly one year ago today that I got to sit in front of a Grand Jury (the grandest), and tell them my tale. While it was a relatively uneventful visit, the next three would not disappoint.

In January, we had our very first date in traffic court, which you would think would be for traffic offenses. Oh no, not at all! Justin and I waited for the court room to open, and we were instructed to stand against the wall. Suddenly, a line of prisoner, chained together, were being escorted into the court room. How many traffic stops end in arrests?!

The final prisoner was brought in alone, wearing a Hannibal Lector mask. The officers escorting him kept telling everyone to move back…what in the world is happening!? This kid weighed a solid 85lbs–what could he have possibly done (the answer–resisting arrest, on meth charges, among other things)!? This date is about to get super exciting!

Justin and I love checking the Russell County Mugshots; this was turning out to be Russell County Mugshots in real time! Most of them were what we expected–possession of meth, possession of a controlled substance, public intoxication. And then the judge read the next offense: discharging a weapon into an occupied vehicle. Ooh, can we get some back story?!
The judge said, “remember at the beginning when I said you can request a lawyer? You are definitely going to want to fill out that paperwork when you get back to jail.”

Justin and I also got a kick out of the Judge’s reactions to people. One young lady (from the “I came from prison” side) was there for drug possession. He asked her how she wanted to plead. “Um, guilty??” He responded, “are you sure about that? This is your first offense, and it’s a misdemeanor. I’m going to enter a not guilty plea, and you can talk to a lawyer about taking drug classes.”

We sat through two hours of drug charges, resisting arrest chargers, and all sorts of other charges. Justin and I were sitting in shock and awe the entire time. “Justin, I’m coming here every Friday! This is better than Dateline!”

The judge asked, “is there anyone whose name I didn’t call?” I stood up, told him who I was and explained our situation. The assistant district attorney said, “oh–that case was continued. You’ll get another subpoena to return February 14th.”

Valentine’s Day Court Date it is! This time. the prisoner chain ended with a young woman sobbing. Absolutely bawling. We were super excited to find out what she did. Whatever it was, she was in a great state of shock, which is how I would be if I had spent the night in jail. When her name was called, the judge said they would be pushing her case until last–oh shoot (three days later, when the mugshots were uploaded, we found out what she was there for: Attempted Murder. Yup, I’d be crying too).

Once again, we waited and waited. The criminals were less criminally the second go-round, but we did get a kick out of a couple who had pressed charges on their neighbor, for supposedly allowing his dogs to jump on and scratch their car.
Judge: “Do you have proof?”
“I have these pictures of the scratches.”
“How do I know his dogs made these scratches??”
Then the man’s Korean wife started yelling about how she saw it. The judge asked her three times to stop interrupting, and to stop talking out of turn. Then she was made to stand in the back. Then she was told to stand outside, and they would allow her back in when they were ready to hear her. Older Korean dependents are my favorite style of Army wife. The sass is intense, the accent is thick, and the inability to listen is expected.
Also, their case was thrown out, because even Justin and I knew it sounded like nonsense.

On this second date, I also made a court friend–the man next to me was a witness in a dog attack case. His neighbor on multiple occasions had set his dog out to attack children on the street. The man said, “he’s a racist.” He also told me he’d heard the judge was super strict. Well, it’s only my second time watching the man in action, but he seems like a super fair gentleman. But I’m not a criminal. Maybe the criminals see him in a different light.

Once again, we wait. And wait. This time, the correct name is called, but then the judge mumbles something and moves on. I stood up: “excuse me sir, I’m a witness in that case.”
“Come up here.”
Can I said I’d rather not? Why do I feel like I’m getting called to the principal’s office? He continues: “this case was continued,” and I sighed. We knew it was headed in that direction, when we looked around the court room and didn’t see the police officer we expected to see.

That’s fine! We’ll be back!

……except that we couldn’t, because of Covid. I had the next court date, which would have been March 23rd. I wasn’t going to be subpoenaed to testify at that one–just wanted to be a fly on the wall and see how it went down. But it didn’t get to go anywhere, because the world came to a halt.

I was beginning to think there would never be an end to this. Or maybe that it would be forgotten (which I would not be ok with). Imagine my surprise when a sheriff knocked on my door and delivered yet another subpoena. We’re so popular.

Today was the big day. And it would be the final day, since the judge told me back on Valentine’s Day that there would be no more extensions. Justin was once again unimpressed with needing to go back. He can’t remember things that happened last month, so how anyone expects him to stand up and tell them what happened nearly 18 months ago is beyond me. But that’s why I’m there–to do the talking. He’s just there to look pretty.

Upon entering the courthouse, Justin was stopped by the security guard. “I can’t allow you in. You’re wearing shorts.”
He’s wearing golf shorts. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wearing shorts. What are you here for?”
“To testify.”
“Go run down to the dollar store and get yourself some sweatpants.”

Wait wait wait. He cannot go to court in his golf shorts, but he can show up in sweatpants? What kind of dress code is this!? I told Justin to just go to work, and I would be the big kid and do this date solo-style.

So, golf shorts are not allowed. Because the dress code says so. But the next person to walk into the court room behind me was a man wearing Pornstar joggers. And for those of you who were not teens in the 90s, Pornstar is a brand that often has the silhouette of 2 naked ladies sitting back to back. So, this man showed up to court in joggers with 100 ladies down the sides of his pants. Also, he had 6 inches of camouflage underwear hanging out when he sat down. I’m pretty sure “No visible underwear” is also on the dress code. As well as t-shirts, and 50% of the men in there were wearing their fanciest dirty t-shirts. Justin’s visible calves were more than the courtroom would be able to handle.

With Coronapocalypse policies still in full effect, the prisoners weren’t brought to court, but instead did their stuff through video conference. Today’s life lesson came when a man was charged with felony possession of marijuana. He asked why it was a felony, and the judge said, “you had synthetic marijuana–that is a felony. You would’ve been better off with the real deal.” This could be an educational show on PBS! I learn so much at traffic court!

The proper name was called yet again, and I told him I was a witness: “do you see the person here?”
“Sir, I don’t even know what they look like.”
And just like that, I was told that I would be receiving a subpoena to come back. Justin will probably never come with me again, which is fine–we wouldn’t have even been able to sit next to each other, and what’s the fun in enjoying Real Time Mugshots, if you can’t gossip with your husband while people are being sentenced!?

Teach Your Covid Well

We’ve made it all the way to day……oh my gosh, it’s only day 4. I have lost track of how many times I have said, “ok, keep going.” Or, “Xander, where are you??” Shea is much better with the whole schoolwork at home thing. Thank goodness, because I don’t know what I would do if I had to keep two kids on task—I struggle enough with keeping myself on task!

Xander doesn’t love school. He would rather be doing backflips, as stated in the very first school assignment.

Tuesday, he attempted to answer the question, “If I could meet anyone in history, I would meet..” with Naruto. Naruto. An anime character. From history. “Xander, it has to be a real person.”

I have also lost track of the number of times Xander has said, “ohhhhhhhhh!”

This morning, his first assignment was to read a passage about Covid-19, and then answer the questing, “how has your life changed because of Covid-19?” Easy enough. I had to coax a response out of him. But that isn’t the issue.

My issue is the fact that this particular passage about covid contains the absolute nonsensical statement: Older people, not kids, have been getting sick from covid-19. Liar liar pants on fire.

I don’t know where his teacher found this info sheet, and I’m sure most people just read over it and answered the question. The thing is, kids can and do get sick. We’re a solid 5 months into Coronapocalypse: USA Edition, and we all Know kids are not immune. This is not a magical virus that avoids tiny humans. They’re some of the grossest humans on the planet. The American Academy of Pediatrics says there has been a 90% increase in cases among children in the last month! That is the month before southern schools reopened!

Kids need to know why schools aren’t reopening. Or why schools are reopening, only to shut right back down again. Telling them they can’t get sick is confusing. Obviously Xander would be happy if school never reopened, but there are plenty of kids (Shea included), who can’t wait to get back to school.

In the time it took me to write this, Xander was supposed to locate 5 items that are special to him (and that could fit in a paper lunch bag)—he just appeared with a Nerf Bow that is bigger than him. Yes, Xander. That is the perfect sized item.

176 school days to go!!!

Back to School

As a former NYer, August is still summer. It’s still a month away from school. It’s still hot. As a Southerner (I can claim “southern status,” because I’ve lived below the Mason-Dixon line for nearly 1/3 of my life–also, you should hear me drawl), August is the start of the school year. Summer’s over. And it’s disgustingly hot.

This year is like no other. Obviously. That is truly the understatement of the year. Even though I opted to keep my kids doing remote learning for the first quarter, I was grateful that the district decided to start everyone remote, at least for the first month. Which made me less of the bad guy when I informed Shea that she would not be going to middle school.

Xander is more than willing to never go back to school again. He can’t even fully appreciate the laid-back format of Remote Learning with Sammi Steeves. Normally, on the first day of school (or any school day, for that matter), I would have to wake him up at 6, so that he can make it to the bus by 7. Xander likes to hit the Mom Snooze Button, which requires me going into his room every 5 minutes: “are you awake yet? How about now? Xander? Xander?!” Then I sing. Loudly. Operatically. Obnoxiously.

Thanks to remote learning, I don’t start the harassment until 7:30. He would be 30 minutes into an hour-long bus ride by that point, so really, we should all be feeling pretty good about the extra sleep.

Truth be told, my alarm went off at 6:30, and I rolled out of bed and wandered around like low-battery Wall-E for the first 15 minutes. Where’s. The coffee. It isn’t like I don’t already get up between 6 and 6:30, but for some reason my Rufus Alarm didn’t go off this morning. My Rufus Alarm tends to go off some time before Justin leaves for work at 5:30–it’s a lot of snorting loudly in my ear, sniffing my nightstand (which instantly gets me out of bed, because even though he’s never done it, I’m convinced that this is the morning he will steal my glasses), more snorting with a hefty amount of nudging, and then usually he’ll bring me something from dirty laundry–a sock, shorts, a pair of underwear. He’s big on gifting. Sometimes I get a shoe, but rarely is it even mine. On this morning, even Rufus was wanting to sleep through the first day of school (he did bring me a ball of used painter’s tape later in the morning, so I wouldn’t feel forgotten).

Even though everyone was reminded over the past week that school would require getting dressed, there was still a decent amount of complaining. “But, why??” Well, Xander, if you wouldn’t sit top naked in class, I don’t think you should be top naked during google meetings with your classmates.

Then comes the fun part. Fill out an “All About Me” form. Typical first day of school stuff.
“Mom, how do I spell Trampoline.”
“T-R-A-M-P-O-L-I-N-E…Why??”
“My teacher wants to know an area where I need improvement.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we’re a solid 5 minutes into the school day.
“Xander, she means what school subject needs improvement.”
“Ohhhhhhhh!!! All of them.”

By this point, I foolishly assume he has the hang of it, and get back to cleaning out the fridge. Then I hear Shea: “Xander, you can’t put ‘backflips’ under After School Responsibilities.” Ah, yes. While most children are doing homework, or taking out the trash, I obviously require that my children do no less than 10 backflips.

I double-checked the sheet before he submitted it. The child used “backflips” to answer 5 questions, including, “when it comes to learning, my strengths are……” backflips. I fail to see how that is a learning strength, but what do I know–I can’t do a single backflip.

Happy First Day of School!!! Only 179 to go!

Day After Day

School starts next Monday, and while most northern states are still coming up with a game plan, here in the south we had to decide by 17 July: remote learning, or face-to-grimy-face. I asked for opinions from friends and family, but the truth of the matter is, I made my decision back in May, when school ended for the summer.

Of course then I watched as county after county around us put their face-to-germy-face option on the back burner, making all students do remote learning—at least until September. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Even though my kids are locked in to remote learning for the first 9 week, I sure do love to doubt myself. Is this the right decision? Am I being paranoid? Am I going to lose my mind? I believe the answers are Yes, No, and Oh hell yes.

You see, I am not what you would call “organized.” Or good with schedules, or staying on task. And while we had 3 months of practice in the spring, I am not a teacher. I never wanted to be a teacher. I can teach you how to swim, I can teach you how to be a lifeguard…neither of those things dramatically shape a person’s future. I mean, I suppose they do. Congratulations, you no longer have to worry about drowning; hooray, you now have the skills to swim laps for exercise; look at you, completing the requirements for an awesome summer job. But, based on the number of adults I have taught to swim over the last 2 decades, you can survive in the real world without knowing how to tread water or rotary breathe.

So, step one of this adventure was more about me. I am a notorious schedule maker…and breaker. I have spent my years going into every day with a plan: these are the items I need to complete, and this is the time I have to get it done. Ooh wait—should I alphabetize my pasta?!

I have lost track of the number of times Justin has said, “Sammi, I love you. But I wish you could complete one task before moving on to the next.” Hey buddy, I would like to complete one thought before moving on to—squirrel!

Right—step one. For the last month, I have written out a daily schedule and followed through. By week 3 I had even added morning yoga into the mix; by week 4, I was starting each morning with chanting before yoga. And I have swept my house every-single-day. Which most people are probably either thinking “why,” or “so?” Because, and you wouldn’t understand.

I don’t just ride the struggle bus—I am the driver. Everything is draining. If I get overwhelmed by…anything (and I mean anything), I have a tendency to shut down. And by “shut down,” I mean nap. As the driver of this struggle bus, I also know that both of my kids are frequent passengers. If I can’t keep it together, we’re all going suffer.

I don’t want to jinx anything, because I really (truly) am impressed with my ability to finally follow through. But I have a really good feeling about this school year. Do I want to homeschool my kids? Absolutely not. Am I willing to send them back to school, when our state is averaging 16% positivity (and our county has averaged over 20%)? Absolutely not! I can barely manage to convince my son to keep a shirt on all day—in what world do we think kids are going to do about wearing masks at school!?