Category: Random

I’M SO AWKWARD!!!

This evening, Shea was in a little school concert. It was pretty cute, and she got to be an adorable Box Fish.

After the performance, Xander and I made our way through the millions of parents (more like 30-50, but I’m not one for crowds, so you have to increase the actual amount, for dramatic effect), to Shea’s classroom. Shea’s teacher was standing in the doorway, looking happy, hand up, and……

I went for it! HIGH FIVE!!! Except that about half a second before contact I realized the invitation was for Xander. Too late to back out, I mumbled, “oops,” and gave the weakest half slap.

I JUST HIGH-FIVED A SECOND GRADE TEACHER!!!!!!

Immediately I became super awkward. Not knowing what to do, I scooped up Shea, said goodnight, and turned to leave.

I could hear Justin (from California) say, “why are you so awkward!?”

As we made our way to the car, I started giggling. And texting my sisters. Instantly, the playback in my head became more exaggerated, as I pictured myself running full speed at the man, jumping in front of Xander, and high-fiving him midair.

None of which happened, of course. But it might as well have. Because, oh my goodness.

Based on the look on his face, this was obviously a first. What in the world. It’s a good thing the school year is almost over, because I don’t think I will ever be able to make eye contact with that man again.

Most awkward mom ever!

Why Can’t I Adult!?

Every now and then, Justin has to take work trips. Boo. Currently, he’s in California, staying somewhere within walking distance of the beach. He sends me pictures of the fancy meals he eats each night, just to really rub it in that he’s vacationing someplace.

Yeah yeah yeah, it’s not vacation. He gets to sit in meetings all day doing stuff he thoroughly dislikes (he would say “hates,” but we’re trying to re-classify hate as a bad word–along with stupid–so Xander stops telling everyone he hates his sister, or rain, or our pug). Justin’s current job is not the running, jumping, climbing trees employment he prefers. I like to refer to it as the “planning committee.” He plans stuff. He’s really good at it, and I’m not just saying that because I’m married to him and I have to brag about him. Nah, I have about 10% knowledge of what the man does on a day-to-day basis, but I’ve seen his NCOERs. That and, you know, he got promoted, even after being told moving to this unit would kill his career.

He STILL refuses to let me go in his place on any of these TDY trips. To which I say, “boo.”

This is all beside the point.

I can’t really adult. Yes, I feed my kids. Yes, I continue on with life as usual. But today, I had ice cream for lunch. Ice cream! FOR LUNCH!!! Don’t tell Justin.

I also have an impossible time going to bed. I become like my kids on the weekends–staying up way too late, watching tv. Mainly because no one is telling me to go to bed. Which is super silly, since I’m usually the one telling Justin we have to go to bed at a decent hour, because I require sleep to function.

Justin leaves, and it’s Sammi No Rules over here. When I left work today, I had a mini arguement with myself, because I wanted to get fast food. Adult Sam told me to be an adult and go home and eat leftovers. I compromised by eating ice cream. Obviously. 

There is absolutely no reason why I couldn’t go get fast food after work on a day Justin wasn’t in California. Unless I went to Burger King and decided to drive by his building, honking and screaming, “I’m eating a cheeseburger!!!” Or if I sent him a selfie with a mouthful of fries. So how is it any different because he’s on the other side of the country!?

Of course, the weather has also been crappy since he left. See, even Kentucky is sad that Justin isn’t here.

I really suck at being an Army Wife. Or an adult who eats healthy and goes to bed when her husband isn’t here to say, “I’m judging you,” or, “SAM! You’re falling asleep on the couch–go to bed.” Worst adult ever. How have I been one for nearly half of my life!?

Genocide at the Water Park

Folks, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but every spring, babies are murdered by the millions at pools around the country. No one is even discussing this horrific occurrence. Why aren’t people fighting for their right to develop legs!?

That’s right. I’m talking about tadpole murder.

Last Thursday, my kids had no school. It’s prime water park clean-up time, so I took them over and let them run around and catch tadpoles while I got some work done. The pool was being drained, so when they asked to take the tadpoles home, I filled a cup with as many as I could scoop in. We currently have 30-something tadpoles living in a tote on our back patio. I feel like the dentist in Finding Nemo–We found these little guys, swimming around in a gunky pool. And we SAVED them!

Well, my kids did. I just gave them a new home.

I had to!!! They were going to be sucked through a giant hose and end up in a sewer! Or worse!!!

Yesterday, I discovered the “worse.”

As I brushed and scrubbed dried leaves up from the empty pool, I uncovered the horror. The Kermits that will never be. It was pretty sad.

AND THEN IT GOT WORSE!!!

How could it possibly get worse, I’m sure you’re all thinking. I came across a puddle full of the lucky little tadpoles, who fate managed to save. Except, of course that the puddle was rapidly evaporating, and they were going to suffer the fate of their friends (who, by the way, basically MELTED into the pool surface. They will require a good amount of pressure washing to remove). I struggled with the dilemma: do I attempt to save more tadpoles, or do I just let them be sacrificed to the Aquatics Gods?

By the end of my shift, no tadpoles had survived the horrific scene. I pictured frogs outside the fence, with their little picket signs, protesting for the fair treatment of their babies.

Of course, then I started thinking about lifeguard shirts. Obviously, right?! Well, yes, because only a few weeks ago, after my supervisor announced that they wanted to redesign the staff shirts, I went looking for ideas. I Googled, “Lifeguard Shirt.” As I was scrolling along, I stumbled upon a shirt with an image in the center of the cross that is usually found on lifeguard shirts. “Ooh fun, what is that a picture of…oh my gosh, that’s a fetus.” With a whole long list of what the “Life Guards” do. They probably won’t save you if you’re drowning, but they WILL let you know all about how they want to save the lives of all fetuses out there.  My eye roll at this discovery was so violent, I’m sure it was audible. Nothing says, “you are a human incubator” more than fighting for fetus rights, over women’s rights. I am much more heartbroken over the loss of these little tadpoles! Where’s the Pro-Amphibian-Rights group!?

Of course, I suppose you could put a tadpole in the center of a Lifeguard Cross, but honestly, people would probably think you were protecting the rights of sperm. “Making sure no man has to suffer the torment of a vasectomy. Save the Sperm.” No, that definitely does not belong on a shirt. I can just imagine every crusty white man in politics, wearing such a shirt and fighting for the wrong swimmers. WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE FOR THR TADPOLES!!!

Behind our house is an area Justin and I call “The Danger Zone.” It’s a giant fenced in area with multiple DANGER signs posted around it. And it floods every time it rains. The runoff from the neighborhood and surrounding areas is directed there. It rains, The Danger Zone becomes a giant pond, and then for as many nights as that pond chooses to stick around, frogs hang around looking for love. IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES!!! When I stand outside and say, “don’t do it, froggies!” Justin gives me weird looks. When I tell him someone should really hang a sign, warning the frogs that this area only temporarily becomes a pond, he asks, “what is wrong with you!?” It is not a good place to have babies. Unless you’re that frog who has decided she’s just not ready to have tadpoles of her own. Maybe The Danger Zone is more like an amphibious Planned Parenthood. 

No matter what the situation our mommy frog found herself in, we were more than happy to take these tadpoles home. Xander can’t wait for them to grow legs. I can’t wait for one of them to learn how to play the banjo so he can sing “The Rainbow Connection.” Obviously.

Oh, My Butt!

Pregnancy and childbirth are magical things–that I’d like to think are wonderful memories from my past. Except…

Sciatica. It’s also a magical thing. Not the good, Harry Potter magic. More like, Voldermort’s dark arts. My scoliosis is partly to blame. That “cool trick” in my teens, where I used to pop my hip out is partly (probably a larger part. Oh, regrets) to blame. And those darling children I carried for 9 months, who assisted in the expanding of my hips. All lead to what I lovingly refer to as “numb-butt,” where my left leg is numb from just above my butt, to just above the back of my knee.

Numb like pins and needles, “my leg fell asleep and is waking up,” weird numb. Whatever, I’m used to it. Sometimes I don’t notice, or it’s not bad; sometimes it’s tingly!

And then sometimes my left hip HURTS, in the “take your breath away,” wincy face kind of way. And I mean my hip joint. All the way inside my thigh/butt, where it can’t be reached. But it says, “set me free, Sam! I don’t want to be attached to you anymore. I think we should break up.”

For nearly a week, my hip has been at that point. I did not for one second think about sciatica, because I’m oh so used to numb-butt being the issue. Do I stretch? Did I over-stretch? Is this one of those things that will eventually lead to my needing a hip replacement? Does my leg really want to break up with me?!

I walk around my house, randomly propping my foot up on tall objects. To stretch, obviously, but all I can hear in my head is Molly Shannon stating, “My name is Sally O’Mally and I am 50 years old.” The stretching helps, but where’s my spandex and cameltoe when I need it!?

My sister Alissa has been known to sometimes punch her butt while announcing, “sciatica!” Maybe this is the pain-in-the-butt she feels. Alissa is currently 8 1/2 months pregnant, so all I can say to her is, it’ll only get better. And by better I mean worse.

My name is not Sally O’Mally, and I’m only 34 years old. I like to stretch. A lot. Because, oh, my butt!

Technologically Challenged

Hey, so remember that time we took a trip to get a new phone? And I told him my number, and he said, “Samantha?” Then remember how I asked him not to finish setting it up, because I can’t trust myself with a new phone until I put a screen protector on it, and throw a case on it?

Let me back up. A few weeks ago, I dropped my phone. And cracked the screen. It’s not the first time it’s happened. I’m hopeless. Well, I decided it was time to just accept my fate and get a new phone.

Of course, I decided to order one from Amazon, to save myself all the weird fees, for whatever Verizon wants to add fees on for today. Phone arrives, I set it up. And then I spent an entire evening wondering why no one is responding to my texts.

That phone hated me. I spent an hour on the phone between Verizon and Apple. In the end, I shipped it back to the seller, for a refund. Yey.

Today, Justin suggested we just go to Verizon and get a new phone, so they could set it up for me. Until I decided I would wait. Because Cheesecake Factory was going to happen after Verizon (my inner fat girl was overjoyed at the excitement of chocolate peanut butter cheesecake action. Good thing I ran fast today).

We should go back even further.

Once upon a time, in 2009, we moved back to the states from Germany, and got new phone numbers. They ended in 68, and 69, with 68 being the main account number. Justin’s. Except that I have the mind of a teenager, and I made Justin take the 69 number, because I couldn’t be a mom and have that number! It’s dirty! Tee-hee. I’m turning red just explaining the reason I kept the main number.

So, remember when we went to get me a new phone, and we got home, and it was actually Justin’s phone? Yeah. And while I’m sure we could sort it out eventually (probably with a phone call or ANOTHER 30min drive to the store), I just went ahead and ordered me a new phone. New phones for everyone!

He’s super excited about his hot pink phone case, and the fact that MY thumbprint unlocks his phone too. I’m getting a lot of mileage out of saying, “hey, remember when I went and got a new phone, and then it was really your phone?!” Yeah, I’m hopeless.