I’m surprised if I have any still. My last post was June 1. That’s more than three weeks: The longest dry spell in years.
In my defense, I’ve been very busy trying to stay alive.
Both of my children are now driving.
Each child presents a different patience challenge.
Gideon has a hard time with turns. And curbs.
Dominic doesn’t like stop signs. Or using his turn signal.
I sit (mostly) quietly in my seat concentrating on my heart rate. I try not to go for the grab handle (known as the “oh shit” handle) or stomp on the imaginary brake.
All that’s fine; they are learning.
But then, when I’m driving, I’m subjected to a critique:
Dominic from the back seat: Did you use your turn signal? Me: Yes!
Gideon on the way to the store: You took that turn pretty fast! Me: (side eye)
I feel lucky. You are all really good kids. I like you, and your parents seem great too.
I spent loads of time with you over the weekend as it was Gideon’s birthday. I laughed so much.
Let’s recap:
Friday night, I took Roscoe and Gideon to meet Trent to see “A Quiet Place 2.”
Gideon: I forgot my debit card. Roscoe: I have $2. All: [pause] Roscoe: I’m ballin’ Me: [howling] Big pimpin’
Saturday, on the way to Six Flags, I discovered Cole is not a fan of roller coasters. He must really like Gideon to agree to go to a theme park with him.
We drive up to the entrance and see a coaster.
Me: That’s the Georgia Scorcher. You stand up on it. Cole: [blanching] Me: Are your hands clammy now? Cole: My whole body is clammy.
Y’all are at that age where you don’t really want parents around, so Eddie and I peeled off.
You found us at Macho Nacho.
Me: Where’s Dominic? Gideon: He wanted a turkey leg, so we left him. Me: Dang. That’s cold.
Eddie and I felt sorry for Dominic, so we went to find him.
Me, calling Dominic: Where are you? Dominic, sounding annoyed: I’m getting a turkey leg. Me: Where? Dominic: At the Sky Screamer Drinks and Eats. It’s across from the Sky Screamer. Me: We’ll be right there.
We get there, and Dominic tells me he has had the exact same conversation with Josh, Gideon twice, me, then Roscoe. I started laughing, because he repeated the conversation each time for my benefit.
An hour in line (no exaggeration), he finally had his leg.
This is my son. (I do this too.)
We had to leave Six Flags. It was just too crowded. Clearly there’s no COVID in Georgia. 🙄
Trent chatted amiably with me on the way back to the car. I learned all about his job search. And other things.
Trent: I just need about a thousand dollars for equipment. Me: When you get your job, that will happen soon. What kind of music do you do? Trent: I rap for Jesus. Me: Oh! Ok. You have a rap name? Trent: It’s Trent Truth. Me: That’s great!
We decided to resume Gideon’s birthday at the pool.
The next day, we took Dominic and HIS friends whitewater rafting. I’m eternally shocked at Dominic and Gideon’s choice of music for car rides.
Dominic: Green Day to Bee Gees to Taylor Swift Gideon: Neil Diamond to Doom
And then there’s Adem’s choice of footwear. I was surprised to learn Crocs are hella trendy again.
Adem: I’ve got my Crocs in support mode.
That meant he used the back straps. Dylan could have taken a page out of Adem’s book.
If you are on the Ocoee River and find a shoe, it’s Dylan’s.
I feel fortunate. I do. My children have chosen wisely.
I hope you are better than 2020. (2020 can suck it.)
I’m not one for resolutions. I usually declare things I won’t do or won’t give up. Just to be contrary. (Look. Listen. Give me this one rebellious thing. That’s about the only one!)
Put up with less than I need/deserve/worked for, etc. I am not a “Welcome!” mat. Mixed progress: I occasionally washed other people’s dishes and clothes, but I got better about calmly explaining what was bothering me.
Save money. Yeah, I know I should, but let’s be honest: I won’t. Success: I didn’t.
Stay home. I want to say “absof–kinlutely” to adventures near and far. Dream scenario: I get paid to write about it. Fail: I think we all know what happened this year.
Continue procrastinating on my book. This is the year I finish it, write the proposal, and find an agent. If E.L. James can become rich and famous off her trashTwilight fan fictionwork, so can I. Fail: I did absolutely no work on it. Lack of motivation, thy name is COVID-19.
Lose more than just five more pounds. I’m calling that my “wine cushion.” Success: I found a few pounds more of me. Pandemic pounds FTW!
Stay in this place with the small kitchen. When it’s a pain to make things as fairly easy as Scotch eggs, it’s time to upgrade. Success: We moved to a larger place with a slightly larger kitchen.
Ignore show suggestions from certain like-minded people. I resisted watching “Killing Eve.” I was stupid. Success: I’m even taking suggestions from randos on Twitter. I’ve got some issues with “Bridgerton.” Who wants to chat about it with me?
Let people try to make me feel even slightly embarrassed about my love of bad taxidermy. Those uptight people can shove it. My obsession is Hando approved. Success: I let my freak flag fly this year to positive results.
Vote for Trump. Duh. Success: Duh.
Stop writing blog posts at least twice a week. I’ve been keeping this pace since April, so I’m pretty proud of myself. Success-ish: I was doing well until the holidays. I blame Netflix.
In 2021, I will not:
Take for granted the ability to hug friends, see a movie in a theater, see live music, eat in a restaurant, travel, go out without a mask, work out at the gym, etc.
Take for granted physical mobility. (This was the year I broke my ankle and damaged my rotator cuff. So that’s been fun.)
Lament a packed schedule of in-person meetings.
Ever get off political mailing lists, apparently.
Be able to wear real shoes again without dealing with discomfort. (I wore flip flops for six months straight.)
Though this year has sucked in ways large and small, I’m thankful for all of you. I have big emotions regarding a few of you, but I’ll save that for a later post.
On this day of Thanksgiving (glossing over the actual horrific origins of this celebration), I’m thankful for small things (in no particular order):
Thanks for giving us one good day at the beach. We needed it after our annual trip turned into a nomadic search for reliable Wi-Fi in the age of ‘Rona ‘Rona.
(Thank you to Patrick/Petra, Tammy and Sharon for letting us park in your homes when the beach Wi-Fi would only allow us to connect my iPad and the Roku.)
Saturday became our hassle-free day. I only had to worry about keeping my foot elevated.
Dominic and Gideon only concerned themselves with how deep they wanted to dig a hole.
Eddie only bothered with taking photos of said hole.
Back story: For whatever reason, the boys love to dig a hole in the sand every time we go to the beach. I don’t know why.
But people act like they’ve never seen a hole. Not a single person passed without commenting.
Granted, it was quite an impressive dig.
Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to blend the tan stripes on my stomach that I got from tubing. (You know: When I got stuck outside of the tube and wiped off all the sunscreen trying to wriggle back into it.)
I was taking a nap when the family started badgering me to get under the umbrella. They started calling me names (“Whitey”) and reminding me of that one time.
It was hurtful.
Me to Eddie: Why can’t I be a bronzed goddess?
Eddie: You can be a vanilla goddess.
So I did retreat to shade, but not before checking the hole.
During the GREAT DIG, Eddie and I savored some adult beverages.
Today we have been married longer than many of my students have been alive.
Yikes.
One of your friends wrote on Facebook about her parents being married 58 years. She said, “It has never been perfect, but it has always been interesting.”
Yeah. What she said.
The last couple of years have been TOUGH for us. Hormonal teenagers, a big move, new jobs, a PANDEMIC — many factors have made it difficult.
I try to remember why we’ve lasted this long.
It can be summed up in two photos:
This is actually when my obsession with bad taxidermy began: Eddie and I were replicating specimens while waiting for a kids field trip to begin.
Clearly the same sense of humor.
In fact, this time five years ago, we were in Italy. One of the highlights of the trip was taking photos with a man sleeping next to us at a restaurant.
We ended up seeing our new friend the next day. He was looking a bit worse for wear.
Interestingly, later in the trip we became somewhat of a zoo exhibit ourselves.
Yes, those are the fish that eat dead skin.
In addition to the funny factor, you also are willing to go along with my crazy plans.
Halloween 2012: I handled the costumes and makeup. I’m crafty once a year.
We also find the same things horrifying. Like a house full of dolls and tchotchkes. Shudder.
Your face says it all.
Thank you for two great kids and many years of good memories. Hope we can keep on laughing!
I’m here today because I have so much work to do, and I needed peace (read: time away from Dominic complaining about the Wi-Fi).
It’s a nice day, so I’m on the balcony. I’m worried about getting a contact high from the clouds of chronic. (New building name: Chronic Condo. Or THC Towers. Or High House.)
The last time I was here to get work done, I got to party with Cardi B, along with everyone else on their balconies.
One time, I was having a girls’ night with my friend Becky (with the good hair).
Some guys two floors down and two balconies over saw us.
Dude 1: Hey Ladies! Dude 2: You with the hair! Dude 3: We’ve got weed. Come on down!
Becky and I are middle-aged women. We are not going to party with random guys — in a pandemic, no less.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t weirdly flattered.
Anyway, thanks for providing plenty of entertainment.
I have a terminal degree in my field, work in higher education and wear suits/dresses to work (even in the age of COVID-19).
You’d trust me to teach and mentor your college-aged children, right?
But under the collar of my professional lady clothes, my neck is red.
Proof:
I’m barefoot even as I write this. When we lived on a lake in Savannah, I could go days without wearing shoes. I never let myself get Jiffy Feet, though. That’s gross.
I used to drive a crappy Ford pickup truck. Stick shift. So old the shine was gone from the paint. I recarpeted it myself. Sometimes when Eddie drove it, I’d roll down the window and stick those bare feet out of it.
Give me a beer over a cocktail any day.
I don’t have anything against boxed wine.
My favorite summer outfit features a concert T-shirt and cutoff jeans. (Not Daisy Dukes, though. I have kids.)
Thanks for taking me to “shoot the hooch.” I cannot believe I grew up in Atlanta and never did this before.**
I almost feel like I need to turn in my Southern girl card.
But not quite, as I adapted like a champ.
Ratty visor? Check.
Brewery coozies? Check.
Cooler filled with beer? Check.
Bungee cords to tie our tubes together? Check.
Bikini to get some sun (even though I know better)? Check.
The sun was hot. The beer and the water were cold.
It was a perfect day.
Perfect until I fell in, that is. (No, apparently I CAN’T reach your speaker carabiner.)
So there I was, dangling in the water, contemplating how best to get back in the tube when something touched my leg.
SOMETHING TOUCHED MY LEG.
My human brain knew it was just river weed.
My lizard brain lost it.
I started scream laughing. You started scream laughing. At me.
Here’s a dramatic re-enactment of me, slippery from sunscreen and still screeching, trying to get back into the innertube.
In addition to making sure to stay in the tube next time, we also will have to do a better job of tying you to the cooler float so you don’t end up in someone else’s pod, flouting social distancing expectations.
You know that saying, “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time?” Well, in this case, you really didn’t do the crime. You are innocent.
That still doesn’t mean we can set you free, Smooth Criminal. You are incarcerated until we all get our test results.
The family that tests together stays together.
You did get time out of your cell for the testing, but that was not a good time for any of us.
Prisoner No. 4 submits to testing.
We all suffered. Dominic claimed it was “nasal rape.”
You certainly haven’t lost your sense of humor.
On the way home, we had this conversation:
Me: When we get home, I have to go out to buy more wine as someone didn’t follow the list. Daddy: I thought it was a “pick one” list instead of a “get all.” What if I bought a bunch of wine, and you got mad? Me: It’s like you don’t even know me. I would never get mad at too much wine. You: That’s something an alcoholic would say.
