It has become official. I've seen everything. I find that a simple drive home from work provides me with enough thrills, disappointments, sense of accomplishment and shock to last the rest of my life. Every day, I'm able to thank God that I was able to maneuver through the sea of idiots on the road and merely arrive at my destination in one piece.
While everyone is no stranger to the rampant texter or the SCREAMING guy on the phone in traffic, I have to wonder if you've all witnessed the things that have now permanently scarred me. I also believe that my karma has taken a severe hit with regard to these skilled navigators with the lovely and refreshing thoughts I've had about each...
One morning, while in the busiest part of our highway referred to as "the Can of Worms", I watched an extremely haggard looking woman apply her mascara at 45mph. Was it wrong of me to pray she poked her eye out, smashed into the concrete divider and died in a fiery mass roadside?
I don't know about you, but I couldn't walk & read a book to save my life - let alone drive, but one very charming guy was doing just that one lazy afternoon. Did I mention he was reading "The Help" while also drinking what I assumed to be a venti horkin fiber chunked latte? Too perverse to hope he got to the part about the pie and blew latte from his nose all over his windshield, veered erratically off the road to smash his little Jaguar in a mud covered ditch?
One woman gave new meanings to the term "drive it like you stole it". When I bravely approached passing on the driver's side, I noted that she was knitting. Now, I'm all for knitting circles, but I don't think a steering wheel is the circle intended. Should I repent for imagining her impaling her skull with said needle into the back of her head rest?
Imagine if you would: I'm driving on the highway in the middle of three lanes - no one to my left OR my right. Yet, strangely, behind me is a gentleman in his giant SUV careening to and fro while tailgating me so closely, I cannot determine what brand of SUV he's driving. Did I fail to mention my three small children are in the car with me? Hmmm. Sorry to have left that detail out. I was happy to see, however, that this gentleman, upon *finally* passing me, had enough skill to give me the finger while talking on the phone, eating some delish little tidbit from Timmy Ho's AND typing out an email of some sort on. his. laptop. I silently requested that if God were to ever give me just one thing...it would be the F-bomb strategically located in that email to a very important customer who would randomly pull all their business.
Everyday on my ride home, I marvel at the little things, such as people second knuckle deep into their nose, people changing their clothes or even turning around to chastise an unruly child. And I wonder...when did we get so self important that we couldn't take a moment to do any of these things (above) BEFORE leaving our home or place of business.
A word of caution? Don't tailgate me. I'm known for sinisterly down-shifting gears without the use of a brake...and then calmly praying for your demise from whatever extracurricular activity you're partaking in - even if it IS knitting ME a sweater.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
I Got The Moves Like Jagger – on LSD, after watching Arachnophobia
My oldest takes 45 min+ in the shower. Now, you ask me what-in-God’s-name could a seven-year-old possibly be doing in the shower, and I answer: drying her face off. She’s horror-struck by water. The moment she gets a drip of water on her face, she gets out of the shower, dries her face and then gets back in. My “aha!” moment when I opened my latest water bill; by fronting the cost of swimming lessons, I could cut my water bill by 50%!
I enrolled all three Things in swimming lessons at our local YMCA. My lovely little children behave in the water just as they do out of it, for the most part… The baby has been dubbed by her teachers as “The Fearless Evel Knievel”. This child has outright refused to swim with a noodle, jumped in deep water without permission and has blatantly done her own thing – swimming about like a fish, when the instructor’s back is turned. I see swim teams in this one’s future. My son lives up to his OCD’d moniker, “Monk”. The water temp. needs to be just so. He can only get in this way. He may only swim about like this. He may only doggy paddle after the blue balls. And in precisely that order.
Now, my oldest is where it gets interesting. And by interesting, I really meant dumbfounding. We do not make eye contact, lest it mistake disdain for compassion and begin screaming louder. [Let me state this child has never been water-boarded, never been dunked, never given any reason to irrationally fear water to this degree.] Her teacher is patient & kind, and I pray – stupid enough to let us re-enroll her. This child is VERY excited every Friday to go to her swimming lessons. She professes her love of swimming. *Loudly* All. The. Way. There…
Then, she enters the pool. What happens can only be described through the colorful narration and your imagination, “Picture an epileptic in a pool with a strobe light in the middle of a rave.” She convulses. She screeches. She coughs. She feigns gagging. And at this point, she’s only stood in waist deep water.
Recently, my good friend was subjected to this traumatizing event (and by traumatizing event, I mean: I’m scarred. I shall never be able to sleep soundly again!). Said friend is watching Evel Knievel sass her teacher, when I lean over and whisper, “Hear the screaming? Don’t look – but it’s been forced into the deep end.” I had been conscious, but ignoring, the blood curdling screams of my oldest in the deep end (for over five minutes by my count) with nothing to save her except a noodle and her own moxie. There was no way this was going to end well.
“OMG! Is someone drowning? Why aren’t the lifeguards moving?” It then dawns on her where the shrieking was coming from. She looks at me with a slightly concerned look of mortification. “Is. That. Her?” Oh yes. The terrifying wailing coming from the deep end was the knee-jerk reaction of my petrified child. I was then informed I should double my payments to these people. The thought *had* occurred to me.
Lessons are done. Kids are dried and changed and heading to the car to go home when the oldest turns and informs us all, “This was such a great week. I swam in the deep end. I love swimming! It is so much fun!” Kid, if that herky-jerky wretched movement you’re doing is called swimming, I think I need to demand a refund. Someone sold you a bag of goods …or at the very least – a shoddy strobe light.
I enrolled all three Things in swimming lessons at our local YMCA. My lovely little children behave in the water just as they do out of it, for the most part… The baby has been dubbed by her teachers as “The Fearless Evel Knievel”. This child has outright refused to swim with a noodle, jumped in deep water without permission and has blatantly done her own thing – swimming about like a fish, when the instructor’s back is turned. I see swim teams in this one’s future. My son lives up to his OCD’d moniker, “Monk”. The water temp. needs to be just so. He can only get in this way. He may only swim about like this. He may only doggy paddle after the blue balls. And in precisely that order.
Now, my oldest is where it gets interesting. And by interesting, I really meant dumbfounding. We do not make eye contact, lest it mistake disdain for compassion and begin screaming louder. [Let me state this child has never been water-boarded, never been dunked, never given any reason to irrationally fear water to this degree.] Her teacher is patient & kind, and I pray – stupid enough to let us re-enroll her. This child is VERY excited every Friday to go to her swimming lessons. She professes her love of swimming. *Loudly* All. The. Way. There…
Then, she enters the pool. What happens can only be described through the colorful narration and your imagination, “Picture an epileptic in a pool with a strobe light in the middle of a rave.” She convulses. She screeches. She coughs. She feigns gagging. And at this point, she’s only stood in waist deep water.
Recently, my good friend was subjected to this traumatizing event (and by traumatizing event, I mean: I’m scarred. I shall never be able to sleep soundly again!). Said friend is watching Evel Knievel sass her teacher, when I lean over and whisper, “Hear the screaming? Don’t look – but it’s been forced into the deep end.” I had been conscious, but ignoring, the blood curdling screams of my oldest in the deep end (for over five minutes by my count) with nothing to save her except a noodle and her own moxie. There was no way this was going to end well.
“OMG! Is someone drowning? Why aren’t the lifeguards moving?” It then dawns on her where the shrieking was coming from. She looks at me with a slightly concerned look of mortification. “Is. That. Her?” Oh yes. The terrifying wailing coming from the deep end was the knee-jerk reaction of my petrified child. I was then informed I should double my payments to these people. The thought *had* occurred to me.
Lessons are done. Kids are dried and changed and heading to the car to go home when the oldest turns and informs us all, “This was such a great week. I swam in the deep end. I love swimming! It is so much fun!” Kid, if that herky-jerky wretched movement you’re doing is called swimming, I think I need to demand a refund. Someone sold you a bag of goods …or at the very least – a shoddy strobe light.
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