Category: Uncategorized

Two Deaths & a Bar Tab

Sitting in the waiting room of my Dermatologists office one day, I noticed a funeral happening across the street in the cemetery.  As I’m watching, I notice an ambulance lights and siren a blaze, come zooming down the street from the hospital.  Which is also next to the cemetery.  A little unnerving I know, but it an excellent hospital.  As it gets closer, I think to myself, “Man you’re a little late, were already holding a funeral here.” Then I feel like the world’s biggest ass when the ambulance turns into the cemetery and I see them assisting someone, living, into the back of it. 

The whole thing got me thinking about funerals though. Like most everyone I know, I’ve never been a big fan of funerals.  I always feel awkward, like is it okay to smile?  Am I smiling too much?  What on earth do you say to the family? How long should you hang around? It’s just a hard thing to get through. 

Back in college my bestie from high school lost her grandfather.  We’ll call her A.  A gave me a call and told me she was coming back to our home town for the funeral and asked if I would meet up with her and come to the visitation.  Of course I would, I would do anything for her.  I loved her family and really liked her grandfather.  So I got the day off from work and drove back home.  Now I’m from a small town and there are only three funeral homes.  I had failed to ask my friend which one her grandfather was at. This was also in a faraway time before cell phones were commonplace.  Hard to remember right?  If only I could’ve sent a quick text, the following would have never happened. 

It was a cold February afternoon, but I remember the sun shining cheerfully.  I had made it to my parents’ house in record time and had enough time to change and freshen up before I needed to leave for the visitation.  My oldest sister was home visiting from Seattle and hanging out with my parents that day.  “Mom, what funeral home is grandpa S at?  I forgot to ask A.”

“I’m not sure, let me check the paper.” Mom said. 

“There are only three in town, just drive by until you recognize someone.” said my sister.  As logical as this sounded, I didn’t want to waste time doing that. 

“I can’t find it, but I’m pretty sure it’s at the funeral home by the middle school.” said my mom. 

So off I went.  I found a parking spot somewhat close, which was a miracle because this funeral home was packed. As I’m making my way up the cracked and uneven sidewalk, there are a bunch people standing outside in circles chatting, by the glass front doors.  I recognized a few people, but was a little confused as to how they knew this man. As I mentioned, this is a town of 7k people, so the chances of recognizing someone is pretty good.  Oddly enough they were giving me the same confused look as I walked on by.  Whatever, I thought to myself, I needed to find my friend.  I made my way into the giant pea green waiting room and looked around.  It was your typical funeral home.  Nicely decorated with peaceful looking paintings, lots of Kleenex boxes and candles.  I scanned the room, but I couldn’t quite locate anyone from her family.  I’m getting a little apprehensive but I start walking towards the chapel.  There are people crying and hugging all around me. Again, looking at me strangely and then I completely understand why they are. 

I made it up to the doors of the chapel and there was a giant poster sized picture of the dearly departed.  I had no idea who this man was.  I instantly broke out into a cold sweat and felt my cheeks flush.  Holy shit, I’m at the wrong visitation. I caught my breath and slowly turned around to walk out as casually as I could when I felt someone gently touch my hand.  I turned back to see who it was and yet again I don’t have any clue who this person is. 

“Thank you so much for coming today.  It’s so nice of you to be here.” said a lady in a sweet and defeated voice. She was a small older lady with kind eyes and to my embarrassment, she was none other than the widow.  This I deciphered from the pictures of his family on the table next to us.  I was frozen, absolutely still, with no idea what to do or say.  Do I tell the truth? “Whoops, wrong place sorry for your loss!” and then run like hell?  Or do I just play this out? Well, I went with the little white angel on my shoulder and played it out as best as I could even though I wanted to bolt.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I said.  “He was a great man.” Now I have no idea why I said that.  The less I say, the safer I am.  Who knows, this guy could’ve been a total ass.  “Have you had a chance to see him yet?” she looked up at me with her big brown eyes that bore into my soul.  “Sorry, no I have not. I’ll let family go in first.” My last feeble desperate attempt to get out of there had failed.  She gave me a small smile and then placed her arm lovingly around my shoulders and we were moving.  Moving down the aisle in the chapel.  Moving down the aisle in the chapel towards the casket.  We were almost down to the casket when she stopped and gave me a squeeze then turned and sat with someone in the pew.  So here I’m standing a few feet from the casket.  I numbly walk forward to look in and there he laid peacefully. “Hi, so I’m Traci.  We haven’t officially met, but it looks like there are a lot of people here that love you, so that’s good.  Your wife is very nice, so good job on that I guess, okay then. Take care!” I whispered to him.  I wait a few seconds to make it look a little more meaningful and pretended to wipe my eyes.   I turn around and overt my gaze from everyone and walk back out the way I came in.  When that cool burst of air hit my face from the outside, I couldn’t have been more grateful. 

When I got back to my parents’ house I was livid.

“You sent me to the wrong funeral home!” I yelled as I entered the house. My parents and sister were standing in the kitchen with the funniest look on their faces.  A mix of horror and is it okay to laugh?  Well laugh they did.  So much so that they were crying and doubling over.  I’m standing there completely pissed and then I can’t help but smile and next thing I know I’m laughing with them at the absurdity of it all.  I wasn’t about to go funeral crashing again so we searched for the newspaper and finally found the correct information. 

I found the right place and joined my friend and her family.  After the visitation I took my friend down to the bar for a beer.  I love small town bars, a beer for $2 dollars? Yes please! After I told A of my adventures earlier in the day, we had a good laugh and decided to call it a day and go home.  The waitress handed over a $4 tab and I gave her my debit card. “I got this round.” I playful bantered. 

“Yeah, we don’t take cards.  Just cash.” said our expressionless waitress.  A and I bust out laughing and then stopped when we realized no one else thought this was funny but us.  “Okay we can walk over to the bank, they have to have an ATM. It’s just across the street. We’ll be right back.” I said.

“Sorry we can’t let you leave without paying your tab…” she said without blinking.

“We don’t have cash..” said A angrily.

“May I at least, use your phone to call someone?” I said.  See how many times a cell phone would have saved the day back then? They let me use their phone and I called my mom to bail me out. She has never let me live that one down.  It’s not every day you call your mother to settle your bar tabs.  And if you do, I’m pretty sure you have a whole other set of problems. 

Let this be a cautionary tale to you my friends.  Always make sure you have the right info and carry cash. 

Up a Tree Without a Cheesecake

I love that I have three daughters.  It always throws me for a loop when people act disappointed for me. Like having three girls is a bad thing.  They usually follow up with, well you can keep trying for that boy! I know they mean well, but oh hell no, that shop is closed. It’s like, “I’m sorry Sally,” the checkout lady at Walmart, “I didn’t realize that we were close enough to have these conversations about my family planning.”  Anyhow, I’m raising smart, strong women that may one day choose to marry your sons.  I bet a mother of all boys can relate too.  My husband and I are happy and so thankful that we’ve been entrusted with three healthy kids.  I would be lying however, if I said that I don’t get cold sweats thinking about them all being in high school at the same time shopping for prom dresses, all going to college, and the weddings… my goodness the weddings!!!  I should start selling plasma now. 

Funny enough, I grew up with two older sisters. I won’t lie to you and say we never fought or got along all the time.  The main difference between my children and my childhood is my sisters are eight & ten years older than me and I played the role of the incredibly annoying little sister very well. Years later and after many fights and tears we have grown up and are the best of friends.  I love watching my girls play together and seeing their sisterly bonds form.  Like my sisters have shown me through the years, I have a feeling that if anyone messes with my girls, that poor sucker has a whole lot of trouble coming their way. On the other hand, hanging out with your sisters can create a whole other kind of trouble. This, my friends, is what I’m here to tell you about today.   

It was the summer of 1992.  I had just turned 10 years old and I was super excited to be spending three whole weeks alone with my big sister.  My father had a work trip in Australia and my mother got to accompany him this time, so we were officially on our own.  Under the close eyes of our parents’ friends of course.  For anonymity’s sake, we’ll call my sister JF. JF had just graduated high school and had the coolest job ever working that summer at our local radio station, before heading off to university.  I felt incredibly cool hanging out with her.  For the most part, things were going smoothly.  Our biggest fight was over me not putting the milk away when I was finished with my cereal.  Which now, as an adult, I get how incredibly annoying that is. 

One lazy afternoon my sister had made this beautiful cheesecake.  She wanted it to set fast, so we thought putting it in the freezer in the garage would do the trick. How has no one ever mentioned this before? We were brilliant. Unfortunately dad’s car was parked to close to the door so we couldn’t open it up. 

Now mind you, this wasn’t just any car.  This was my dad’s “baby”.  It was a blue Mustang convertible.  It had a 5.0 engine and the wide tires.  This car was gorgeous and built for speed.  He would spend hours detailing it on the weekends and we were forbidden to eat and drink in it.  We moved a lot growing up and every time he would move us, he would promise to get a house with a pool.  Well the house we ended up with in Nebraska did not have this pool.  So the Mustang was kind of a peace offering to my teenage sisters, but let’s be honest it was more for him. 

As my sister stood holding the cheese cake in the garage she yelled for me to come see her.  I was in the basement “not playing Barbie’s with my friend M”, because we were way too old and cool for that at our ripe old age of 10.  “Hey can you hold this, I need to back the car out.” she asked.  “I can do it,” I replied which was a total lie.  I was just trying to look cool in front of my friend.  I mean I already knew how to drive boats.  This couldn’t be much harder.  Well my sister totally called my bluff.  “Fine back it out, I dare you!”  “Okay then, I will.” I said as I held her gaze.  I knew I was being stupid, but the ball had already been set into motion, there was no turning back. 

Ugh! Getting a dare from your older sibling is literally the worst!  Now I couldn’t back down.  I refused to be labeled a wuss, if I could do anything about it.  I ran inside and grabbed the keys from the kitchen. When I came back out and got into the driver’s seat, my hands were extremely shaky as I inserted the key into the ignition.  “Traci are you sure…” my sister said something else, but I couldn’t hear her.  The roar of that giant engine was reverberating through the entire garage.  My friend M looked scared as hell and ran out of the garage up onto the front porch.  “Trace, I’ll just be out here!” M said.  JF furrowed her eyebrows with a mixed look of don’t you dare and I wonder if she can really do it.  At this point I’m full of adrenaline.  I was kinda scared and kinda excited.  Now this car is so powerful, you actually have to apply the brake right away when backing out.  There is no need for the gas pedal in this situation, I only need to move the car 3 feet. Now remember, I had never driven a car. I mean, if you count “Cruis’n USA” at the arcade in our local pizza joint a car, then I’m an absolute pro. And if there’s one thing I learned from that, you press that gas pedal all the way down to the floor… all the way down. 

Well that’s just what I did.  I put that baby in reverse and pressed that pedal ALL the way down to the floor.  Now the car didn’t just start going backwards it kicked up and leapt like a horse trying to buck off its rider.  I was absolutely scared shitless.  Shitless!! As I’m flying backwards through time and space I see my friend staring with disbelief, mouth agape and then I lock eyes with my wide eyed screaming sister.  “NOOOO!!!” JF screamed.  I backed right into our full size van.  You remember those, right?  The third row folds down into a bed, captain chairs in the middle with the optional folding table.  It was a tank.  And thank God it was right there. It probably saved my life.  But even the tank couldn’t stop me. The mustang continued to push our full size van down the drive way and across the street. I’m watching my sister running at me in slow motion. I feel my hands sear with pain from gripping the stirring wheel and all of a sudden I felt myself rising up. 

Now I’m not rising up like Jesus had finally came and taken the wheel.  I was rising up because after I had crossed the street, still pushing that van, I was about half way up a 40 foot pine tree… okay it probably wasn’t 40 feet tall, but it was taller than my neighbors one story pink house that I had just smashed the corner of.  Finally everything had stopped.  I sat frozen holding on to the stirring wheel listening to the strangest buzzing sound.  My heart was pounding in my throat.  My mouth was dry from screaming. I had tears pouring out of my eyes, but I didn’t feel like I was crying.  All of a sudden my sister was there, turning off the car.  The sound had magically stopped.  I guess I was still pushing down on the gas and the tires were still spinning like crazy.  As she’s lifting me down from the car I can barely feel my jelly filled legs.  We both stand there, looking at the monstrosity I had just created.  “Are you okay??” she asked me anxiously looking me over.  I don’t even remember answering her.  I think I mumbled something unintelligible.  “Shit.” JF said.  That about summed it all up.  There was the Mustang supporting the front of the van as half of it lazily bobbed up and down in the tree, like it was taking a nice siesta and the other half was peacefully resting in the corner of my neighbor’s bedroom.  The tree on the other hand looked like it just wanted to die or yell get the F off!!

“I gotta go home now!” my friend M yelped and ran down the street.  As we are numbly standing there JF had an excellent suggestion, “Maybe nobody saw it and we can clean it up!”  That was extremely wishful thinking, but I was down.  JF jumped in the mustang and drove it back over into our driveway.  She sprinted back over and somehow climb back up into the bobbing van.  The van however, wasn’t down with our idea. It wouldn’t budge. “Damn it! I can’t get it to move!” yelled JF.  Yeah we were so screwed. 

Next thing I knew our next door neighbor, whom I can count on my hand the number of times I’ve had contact with, comes outside with his ancient camera from 1945 and started snapping pictures like crazy.  Of course he would be there, that was just our luck.  He was a heavy set man that always wore overalls and ball caps.  He never smiled, well at least at us.  This man hated us.  No really.  I never understood why my mother always made a point to be nice to him.  He would complain that we always had wild parties and were loud.  Which if you knew my family, you would understand just how laughable and far from the truth this was.  I guess those FCA meetings on Wednesday nights, got the Holy Spirit really moving. 

“I called the police! I don’t want you kids to lie about this!” grumpy neighbor man barked.  “How the hell would we lie about this sir?” said JF.  “The van is hanging out of a tree! We’re not that good!”  Man I love my sister.  Following this, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect, the cop had turned the corner of our street.  He paused and then parked.  The officer got out of his cruiser scratched the top of his head and just started laughing.  “Is everyone alright?” he asked. “Yes.” my sister and I replied.

“Well this is definitely the most interesting thing I’ve seen today” he said.  Really? I thought to myself.  “Officer, look what these kids did!” said grumpy neighbor man.  “I can see, you can go home now.  We can handle it from here.” said the officer.  I really liked that cop.  Grumpy neighbor man huffed and walked back to his house.  You could see him watching everything not so secretly from his living room window.  The rest of that day was a blur.  A tow truck came to haul away the van, which the van doors were dented in with bits of pine tree sticking out.  It kind of looked like I tried to kill Christmas.  The neighbors, whose house I’d hit, were gone on vacation. I couldn’t imagine getting that phone call.  They were extremely gracious about the incident and were happy no one was hurt. The local newspaper turned up to take pictures and of course I made the front page of the Newspress.  Some kids make the paper for getting good grades, community service or MIP’s.  My appearance was a little more legendary.  My story also made our local radio station where my sister worked.  That had to have been fun for her. 

After everything was over I ran into my room and hid under my blankets. I was in shock and didn’t emerge or really eat anything for three days.  Which if you know me, not eating is incredibly serious.  I was terrified that my dad was going to kill me.  Probably not as terrified as my sister though.  Lucky for us, my dad’s friends that were keeping an eye on us were none other than a lawyer, insurance agent and a judge.  They took great care of us and helped get everything sorted out before she had to call our parents.  Luckily JF got to speak with our mother first.  My mother is a saint.  She is the best one to tell bad news too first.  She took it very well and broke the news to our father for us.  He wanted to send our mother home right away, but she refused.  “Honey, they have everything handled, we will go home when we were planning to go home.” said my mother.  She was extremely smart and knew that he needed that time to cool off a continent away, before coming home.  When they returned home I greeted my dad with my Cabbage Patch Doll piggy bank.  He took it and to this day I have yet to get it back.  When I was older he explained to me that he wasn’t as angry about the car as he was that I could’ve been hurt.  Now as a parent I totally get it.  Weeks later, the state of Nebraska wrote my mother informing her to send them my driver’s license.  She wrote back, give her one first, she’s ten…

I’ve never lived this story down.  It haunted me through adolescence.  Five years later my Driver’s Ed instructor was even afraid of me. Which I don’t really blame him, I was a pretty awful driver.  When I got my license, we still had the Mustang.  We had already been through so much together it just felt right that it was mine.  And I was always reminded of that fateful day every time it rained.  You see when I crashed the car, I bent the entire frame and the top didn’t latch down correctly.  Man when it rained, I got real wet. 

My father didn’t laugh about this story for about 24 years.  I will never forget my wedding day, I mean who does, but as my father and I were standing at the back of the church getting ready to walk down, I looked at him and his eyes were getting red.  Crap, he can’t cry or I’ll just lose it.  I have seen him maybe form a tear one other time in my life. As we start walking down the aisle, I lean over and say, “Hey remember that time I crashed your cars into our neighbors house?”  He looked at me confused for a moment. “Well, I’m sorry about that.” I whispered. We instantly burst into laughter and it was one of my favorite memories of the day.  It’s nice when you can turn something so awful into something so funny. 

And how did the cheesecake turn out you ask?  My sister said she got me to eat some, but I honestly can’t even recall.  But it cost us a hell of a lot of money.  I don’t think my sister has made one since.

The Dehydrated Philosopher

I initially wrote this story for my four-year-old a while back.  After her sisters have arrived, I’ve found the content to remain just as true today. These past four years have been hard, sticky and amazing.  As other people would say, I’m in the thick of it.  Even though they give me anxiety attacks, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. 

Personally, I’m grateful I had my kids in my 30’s.  My 20’s were so fun living with my girlfriends, dating the wrong guys and traveling all over the place.  However, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t envious of a younger mama’s energy level and stamina. 

I had my children close together, almost two years between the oldest and middle and less than a year and a half between the latter. This can be extremely challenging at times, but again I wouldn’t have it any other way. I always find it odd when people react to the closeness.  “Are they twins?”  “No they are not actually!” Then comes the judgmental facial expressions saying you know what causes this right… In my head I kindly respond “Sorry Linda let me go back in time and ensure there’s more of a gap to please you.”  Anyway, they play and fight so well together it warms my heart. 

So for any of you in similar situations, feeling the stresses of motherhood pounding you into the ground.  Here is to you mama!  I see you! You are doing a great job!  Hang in there!  This isn’t easy.  Whether you are young or of “advanced maternal age”, have 1 kid or 6, we are all in this together. It takes a village, patience, a little wine and a lot of prayer. We are in the thick of it but we will power through! 

To My Dearest Toddler with Love,

My beautiful daughter, I have decided today was a day worth reliving with you.  I am very excited about this.  We are going to have the most exciting adventure. In 30 years, I’m going to come stay with you.  Exciting, I know.  I haven’t decided if I will bring your father with me on this adventure. I may take this one solo, however it would be a blast to do this with him. 

I will promptly arrive for dinner via Uber or whatever a popular shuttling service for the elderly we have then.  I will greet you with a great big hug and then ignore you completely and sit in your living room watching TV.  You will tell me multiple times that dinner is ready.  I will continue to ignore you until you have to come in and turn off the TV. Then I will be shocked and excited that dinner is ready.  I will find my seat and not like it.  I will make you switch places with me and take your fork and give you mine because I know yours has to be better.  After a fun game of musical chairs, you will find that I am grossly disgusted at what you’ve cooked, refuse to eat it and beg you for cheese.  Then I will proceed to give the cheese to your dog and ask for a cookie.  What’s that, you don’t have any cookies?   Whip some up NOW! This tantrum isn’t going anywhere any time fast so you may as well cave and make it happen. 

When you are only half way through dinner, I will inform you that I have to use the potty.  However, I need you to sit by me on the floor and read books while I try to poop.  You will likely lose your appetite, but I don’t mind, dinner was gross anyway. No reason to worry, I will enjoy your company.  

As you try to clean the kitchen I will demand that it’s time to take a bubble bath.  As you kindly draw my bubble bath, I harass you from behind declaring you will not turn off the faucet.  I require the water up to the top of the tub. I will splash around like a deranged sea otter for about a half hour until my water is ice cold.  I will attempt to convince you that I’m fine and it’s warm whilst realizing that I have to use the potty yet again and leave your toilet seat soaking wet as well as your toilet paper roll. This will be an incredibly fun surprise for you in the middle of the night.  The walls and floor will be covered in water as well.  I will do everything in my power to miss all the towels that you have carefully placed all over the floor. 

After a bath I would like to squirt out half a tube of toothpaste and argue with you that it’s not enough. Once I have my desired amount, I will turn on the faucet and rinse it off completely because your toothpaste is too spicy. I will then decide I don’t want to brush my teeth at all.  Next I will proceed to run around naked through your house while you try to put pajamas on me. This will be quite a show for your neighbors.  Fair warning, you may want to shut the curtains beforehand.  Good luck! Once dressed and ready for bed I will be hungry again.  Do you have any more of that cheese?  Or cookies would be okay. 

Once you’ve explained why we eat all our food at dinner and shouldn’t eat at bed time, I will firmly hand you a stack of 25 books I’ve carefully picked out for you to read me. Don’t you dare skip pages! I will know. 

Tuck me in, say my prayers and turn off the light.  Then I will call for you because I have turned into a dehydrated philosopher.  I need water and as you arrive with my refreshment, I will ask you all sorts of questions to delay my actual bedtime and preventing you from accomplishing anything for the evening. Oh and by the way, I need a new pillow, this one is weird.  The one you have on your bed will do just fine. And can you please take that picture off the wall, they are looking at me.

About 2 a.m. I will crawl in bed with you, but you should know I like to sleep sideways with my feet in your face.  It makes me feel closer to you.  At about 6 a.m. (if you are lucky) I will wake you up demanding more cheese and the use of your phone so I can watch the Wiggles and blast their charming music in your ear until you get up to get me that cheese we talked about earlier.  After my breakfast, you will likely look like someone the government interrogated for 72 hours straight and will be ready for me to go back to my house.  So I will happily sit in the back seat of your car singing at the top of my lungs and kicking your seat as hard as I can. As you try to keep your cool and ask me repeatedly to stop.  I may scream and cry for no reason at all, from time to time.  When we get to my house I will give you with the biggest smile, warmest hug and sweetest kiss and you will forget all the misery I put you through.  Because that is what we do. 

I know that I will miss these moments someday, but I find comfort knowing you will have to go through this as well. I’m reminded of this when I call my Mom, tell her the adventures of the day and on the other end of the phone all I hear is laughter. “That sounds about right!”

So dear daughter of mine, please remember I will always love you and be here for you.  Love you kiddo! 

Bless Your Farts

Ahh the gym, a magical placed filled with unique smells and butt cracks galore. Kinda like Walmart, but a little sexier. I love walking in the gym and doing a lap to check out all the people. I love people watching. I still don’t understand people who wear jeans to the gym. Wouldn’t that hurt? I’ve never heard anyone say, “Man I just bought the cutest pair of jeans to wear to the gym. I can’t wait to get all sweaty in them, so my thighs can chafe and break out into a heat rash. This is going to be a great day!” These people are as out of place as a straight guy at a Cher concert. Then there is the guy, no joke I saw him, after a few reps on the leg machine, picks up his liter of regular Pepsi and chugs it down… I have so many questions and it seems a bit counterproductive. Then there are the girls who come in with a full pound of make up on. Personally, I’m lucky to wear make up at all and if I do, it’s definitely not for the gym. I save that for something classy like a special trip to Target or, wait for it, maybe Costco. Last but not least, are the people who wear two Fit Bits… You know who they are. Personally, I just don’t trust them. It just doesn’t seem necessary. Yes we get it, you like to work out. Don’t worry we see you moving.

Well this trip to the gym I’m going to tell you about happened a few years ago. A long long time ago, in a far away place, a time before kids were even a thought and before I was even married. I think I had just gotten engaged and joined the gym to get ready for the wedding. My time at the gym only lasted a couple months and stopped purposely after this encounter. I decided this particular day to try the water aerobics class. It sounded like it would be fun and low impact. Just what I needed and I had just bought a cute new bathing suit that was dying for a little chunky dunking so I went. The pool was refreshing, or in gym terms cold AF! As I was bouncing around trying to warm up, I noticed there was absolutely nobody else coming to this class. I started getting out of the water thinking I must have misread the calendar, when this thin wild-eyed woman came power walking in. “Are you here for water aerobics?” she asked in a very authoritative tone. “Yes.” I said. She looked me square in the eyes and said, “Let’s do this, I’m a personal trainer and I’m going to work you so hard.” And that she did my friends. I quickly came to find why I was the only poor soul in the class. I’m pretty sure I cried during some point of the work out as she was screaming at me to keep going… “keep going… KEEEEP GOOING”. I can still hear her years later (insert shoulder shutter).

The workout alone is enough to burn an image in my retinas, but it’s what happened next that will really live in infamy. After the traumatizing workout was through I made my way to the locker room feeling like a shaken bottle of soda. It was getting busy in there so I thought I would just change real quick and head home to shower. I took my swim suit off and wrapped myself in a towel. As I bent over to pick up my flip flops, my stomach grumbled and then it happened… I couldn’t help it, it just slipped out. A nice cheek squeak came out… yes I farted. If that wasn’t mortifying enough, as I stood up, I noticed a girl had bent down right behind me trying to tie her shoe. She was looking up at me with the most shocked and appalled look on her face. Before I knew what I was doing, I began apologizing profusely. “Oh my gosh, I’m so so sorry! I didn’t see you there!”. She is still staring at me in disbelief, mouth agape. Without missing a beat I just blurted “Damn pregnancy side effects”. Now mind you, I was not pregnant and fully didn’t understand the biological flatulence situations a pregnant woman goes through. However, by saying I was pregnant, her demeanor and attitude changed completely. “Oh honey, it’s okay! Don’t you worry yourself about this one bit!” By now the gym was hitting the busy time of the morning and I has an audience. They are all trying not to laugh at me and are looking at me in that damn “Bless your heart” way. I’m thinking to myself, geeze, pregnant ladies get great passes! Then she asks me how far along I am. Well shit, now I’m in too deep. I didn’t know what to say. I mean I’m a big girl so I just took a guess. “I think like, six months??” After having babies I realize how incredibly stupid I must have looked. Her eyebrows shot up as her eyes found their way to my flat fat belly and said questioningly “Oh well, congrats.” Yeah she figured out pretty quick I was fully of shit… well in this situation, gas! I just smiled, grabbed my clothes and went and hid the bathroom stalls, like any mature reasonable person would do. Then wait until they all laughed, I mean left.

I don’t really do the gym scene anymore. I’m pretty sure I’m an urban legend around that place. Now I like to go to group classes where there are lots of fans and loud music. So if anything slips, I’m covered. Moral of the story is… well I really don’t have one, but if this happens to you, be assured that you are not alone my friend.

The Cutest Moocher

Going out to eat with your littles is always an adventure. My husband and I are big foodies. We used to love to go out to eat, try new places and new cuisines. Now going out to eat usually involves my husband whisper shouting empty threats, spilled drinks, the kids hanging over the back of the booth trying to spark conversations with the unfortunate soul trying to eat their meal in peace and me crawling under the table to find the damn binky and picking up the enormous pile of food that our kids have left behind. Half of which I’m pretty sure isn’t all ours, but I don’t want to be “those people” so I clean. After swearing off never going out again, we do and it’s the same madness. However, it gets a little easier as they get older. So there is light at the end of the curry, I mean tunnel. Ohh curry sounds delicious. With school starting tomorrow I told O (4) that we could celebrate by going out to eat. I made the mistake of asking her where she wanted to go, because it’s always one of two place Chick-Fila or McDonald’s. I’ve got to give it to her, they have the best play areas. I’m sorry I mean Old McDonald’s according to O. Today we headed to Chick-Fila to meet up with some good friends for lunch. As I was waiting in line to order, I noticed a homeless man sitting alone at a table trying to sleep. Which is a hard thing to do when there are a million screaming hangry kids running around. Mine included. I was thinking to myself I should get him a meal or maybe a gift card, so he could use it whenever. Then I see my friend laughing, I mean really laughing. So of course I had to lean out of line to see what she is laughing at and I see my middle child M (2) sitting with a random family, eating and talking away like they were life long friends that just so happen to run into each other. I jump out of line, run over and scoop her up. I’m apologizing profusely, as I’m prying a french fry out of her tiny yet extremely strong hand. Then I find myself trying to hand back the freshly chewed fry. Gross. Luckily they were extremely gracious and thought this was hilarious and kept telling me how cute she is. Cute yes, but I apparently need to work with her on social boundaries a little more. I was still mortified and swore to them I do really feed her once in a while. I think they believed me, however they made me keep the fry. Luckily our food showed up shortly after this whole ordeal and M was satisfied. Then I remember the poor homeless man I was going to feed and he was gone. Guess it was a sign that I needed to focus on feeding my own kids so they don’t have to beg for food in restaurants.

That Was a Close One

Christmas is over and it’s a start to the new year. This past weekend was beautiful and we took down the last of our outside Christmas decorations. I mean it’s 353 days until Christmas people. Talk about putting your stuff out early! My husband and I really get into decorating. By our front door we have a 3 foot Santa and Nutcracker. My kids love them. Probably because they are about the same height. My two year old usually greets them with a hug and kiss. My four year old on the other hand was a little bit more skeptical about them. I may have told her that the elf on the shelf needed some back up to keep an eye on things. Don’t even get me started on the elf on the shelf bit. First off she wasn’t buying it and second my husband and I were the worst at remembering to move the damn thing. As I was packing things up in the kitchen I see O (the 4-year-old) loitering in the hallway next to the giant Santa. Me: “O, Whatcha doin? Need anything?” O: “Nope I’m good mama.” I walk away pretending I’m not paying attention One of my mommy super powers and defense mechanisms. Out of the corner of my eye I see her get real close to Santa’s face. O: “Hey, can you still hear me? Listen, I know you’ve been watching me and I know I haven’t been that good so I wanted to say thank you for telling him I was!” She then wraps her arms around him and gives him a quick hug and bolts off. Insert face palm. Well at least she believed that we have more spies around the house. I love making the holidays special for my children. Especially the part where i basically tell them inanimate objects are possessed and watching their every move reporting their behavior back to another mythical being. These are the traditions that bring us close together.