Category: Uncategorized

What a weekend!  Alex played ball down in my old stomping grounds in Maryland.  Well, about 30 minutes west of the grounds I stomped, but close enough.

I got to catch up with some fabu people.  Amy, Jack and Quinn (or some variation of the 3) came to visit for most of the games.  I got to tell Jack and Quinn how their mother dragged me away from college softball and into college keggers.  (I love that Jack believed me and asked Amy why she did it…).

Randy and Carroll came for a game – I’ve known them most of my life.  Carroll and Pop played some ball of their own back in the day.  If memory serves, I do believe I had my first sip of beer during one of those ball games (at the ripe old age of 5 I hated it… I think I’ve turned that around nicely).  I wish I could put into words the fondness I have for so many of my parents’ friends.  Now that I’m older and can enjoy those friends as my own…  I don’t know how to explain it but there’s a feeling, a deeper connection or maybe just an entirely different level of emotion I feel for this group of people; maybe it’s the connection to my mom, people who loved her and understand my loss…  it was wonderful seeing these 2 lovely people.

The last visitors were Holly, Wilson, Declan and Eghan.  Holly was part of that crew who drug me from the diamond to the red solo cup.  Being less than 12 hours home from a 2-week vacation, I was touched that she and the boys would make the trip to see us.

So, now with all of the thanks outta the way…  I gotta tell ya about my trip.

Day #1 was a pain in the ass.  Well, it was only a pain in the ass for about an hour or so…  Google maps got us to our destination — or so I thought.  The place wasn’t well marked so when that Google bitch told me I had arrived – and there was nothing but forest all around me – well, let’s just say there was yelling (although I do love it when she says, “You have arrived” – I feel incomparably successful).

so we passed the park, turned around

once in the park, turn into a meaningless parking lot, turned around

looking for the not-well-marked field, missed the “bump” sign – we got air

pulled toward the field, no parking, no room to turn around, backed back out

dropped Alex at the field with her team and left to check into our hotel

forgot the well disguised “bump” –  got air…. again

the Google bitch made me miss my turn into the hotel so I had to turn around, then she made me go the wrong way from that turn around, so I turned around again

pulled into the parking lot, chose to ignore the big ass blue sign indicating the hotel was to the right, and turned left on Google’s suggestion, turned around

got to the hotel desk simultaneously with another (different team) softball mom, let her go first (believing in karma) and waited 10 minutes for her to be checked in

as I stepped up to the counter – the phone rang, waited a few minutes

impatiently waited through my 10-minute check in, picked up our 4 bags and headed to the elevator

walked alllllllllllllllll the way to the end of the hall only to find our key didn’t work

schlepped back down the hall, elevator down, then watched a man get to the counter a heartbeat before me, waited 10 minutes for him to be checked in

keys reactivated, picked up 4 bags, back up elevator, allllllll the way down the hall

as I walked passed the front desk, on my way back to the fields,  I said, “ok, if you see me before 9pm shoot me and put me out of my misery” the girl, being in the know of my recent adversities, chuckled

the smile left her face 90 seconds later when I came back in and said, “my car keys are in the room……”

Day #2 was fun – Pop showed up completely unexpectedly.  Drove 2 hours to see Al play…  if you can say nothing else about that man, he is a magnificent Poppa.  The girls played 2 more ball games (ended the weekend with a record of 4-0-1) and then off to my childhood home (pop headed back home).

As we drew nearer and nearer I pointed out memories to Alex; most of which started with, “that wasn’t there….” or “that used to be….”.  I drove down the neighbor’s driveway and was dumbfounded….  the blue ranch-style home of my childhood was now a tan 2-story.  I sat there in awe, staring, taking a few pictures – trying to imagine the story of this massive transformation.  Then I noticed the guy on the front porch looking at me like, “uhhhhhhh surely you know I have to ask you what the hell you’re doing, right?”  So, Alex and I got out and spoke to the young lady walking toward us.  I explained that I had grown up in that very house; she smiled and said, “You’re Dan and Eileen’s daughter.”

Her mom came out, arms open wide, “Karen…..  I’ve always wondered if you’d stop by and hoped you would.”  We hugged and she told me how very sorry she was to hear of mom’s passing.  Wow…  overwhelming. Holding back the emotion was actually, physically painful.  Kim welcomed us into her home – and it was completely her home; the changes were remarkable.  Ironically, all that remained the same were 2 bedrooms – my parents’ and mine.

I’m still not sure if that made it easier or more difficult…

We talked for a few moments, she told me how profoundly my mother’s death had affected her and we hugged more than a few times.  Alex and I walked away from this home, that little resembled that of my memories, with an open invitation to come back often.

I called dad as we were leaving and said, “You aren’t going to believe this!  It has a second story now…”

hmmmm, yes… it does, indeed have a second story………

 

Is there anything worse (in the sporting realm) than 2nd place?  You’ve sent out 47 texts… “We made it to the Championship game – it starts at 4, I’ll send updates when I can!”

 

 

 

Here’s an update – we got ourselves a 2nd fucking place trophy.

The worst is: you’ve got just as much time invested as the winners.  Every other team has cleared out – those rat bastards are home napping (a select few with LOADS more sense of duty are actually taking care of their lawn – we simply replace the ‘crime scene – do not cross’ tape every now and again to freshen up the place).

You got up on Saturday at 5:30ish am, just like the people with the 1st place trophy.  Ya know… Alex used to always be on the team drawing the 1st game of the day, which meant getting up as early as 4am on occasion; this season her team seems to be the “we drew the 2nd game and the last game” type.  (incidentally… friends of ours drew the 1st game and last game Saturday… poor bastards.) Anyway – this early game/last game scenario guarantees you at least 14 hours not taking care of your home.  At least when she had the 1st game curse – we were often home by 5 or so, with this 2nd/last shit we don’t get home ’til almost 10.

And has any parent enjoyed a day of games in 65 degree weather, 0% humidity, 4mph breeze with lazy clouds?  Fuuuuuck.NOOOOOO.  We have 38 degrees with hurricane winds, 97 degrees with 114% humidity or torrential downpours – at no time are these girls solely battling pony-tailed opponents (although I swear our opponents never face the elements like we do…).

This weekend was an anomaly.  From a “I can go in and out at will” standpoint, the weather seemed perfect; from a “I’m going to sit here for 14 hours today” standpoint it sucked – or blew, as it were.  The wind at our tournament was obnoxious – 15(?), 20(?)mph constantfuckingly blowing.  There were no less than 11 tornadoes over home plate.  And the sun…  the sun obviously had a keen interest in these games as it decided to pull up a fucking seat right next to my forehead.  I don’t know which is worse – the underlying 2nd degree burns or the wind burn on top of the blistering.  The wind was so biting it required a thick zip-up hoodie, at one point my pacing in the final game drew me out of the shade and into the sun – my metal zipper melted.  I looked like an MLB pitcher between innings – the arm in the shade pushed through my hoodie sleeve, the arm in the sun pushing the sunscreen past it’s limits.

Why’s it seem like every single game has me staring into the sun?  We were at 3 different fields and almost without fail, I sat facing the sun… I went through 7 gallons of sunscreen, the opposing moms walked away with sun-kissed tresses.  Not only that… this weekend I ate more dirt than I have since my grade school years. I swear the umps decided home v. away teams based on my appearance at the field; “oh, it’s that lady… we like to have her facing the sun with the dirt blowing into her mouth.  Winning Edge you are the home team….”

Generally speaking, we don’t do well in the seeding games; we’ve been cursed with bad 1st day outings.  For those of you not in the know – Saturday usually consists of 4 games which dictate seeding, you come back on Sunday per your seed and play until you lose.  Usually Alex & Co. (no matter which girls make up the Co. part) bomb Saturday – which means we are most often a mid to low seed.  Unfailingly, her team finds their groove on Sunday so we spend the whole day fighting our way through the teams who had it together on Saturday.  We’ve played as many as 6 games on a Sunday (having to beat the same team twice in one tournament).  It should be noted: while I sit there in 98 degree heat, soaked like a person with a sweating disorder doing hot yoga, my girl is crouched behind home plate, covered in gear, involved in nearly every pitch…

eh screw ‘er, she’s young – it’s worse for me.

This weekend our girls actually got the 1st seed – we were looking forward to sleeping in… only… not so much.  Being inexperienced at this 1st seed stuff we always assumed the bracket favored these girls.  We’ve never been last seed either – we always assumed being last seed was also agreeable in that you were pitted against the 1st seed people who got to sleep in.  This is not so.  First seed teams get hosed.  You wanna fall in somewhere like 4th/5th seed.  I’m not saying blow any games, but had I known… I mighta been a little less enthusiastic about our winning pace on Saturday.

But… there I was on Sunday – exhausted, hungry (I do NOT eat concession stand food – done my fair share of concession stand duty…  I refuse to eat that stuff), one side of my body oozing from the sun poisoning, the other side goose bumps, my face wind burnt, down $319 in lunches, dinners, gas and a pick-me-up trip to Dunhams after a nasty foul tip off my girl’s mask (and to celebrate her walk-off pick-off), another $203.45 in gatorade, my weekend shot after 25 hours already spent chewing sand crystals.. but I was ready.  This was what it’s all about… bringing home the trophy.

Only… our girls clearly felt a 2nd place trophy was ok.  There wasn’t a bunch of terrible play – there just wasn’t a whole lot of play…  ‘Lackluster’ is the best word I can think of – and Alex Iseminger led the pack.

I knew early on we were coming home with 2nd place.  It was all I could do to not walk away.  I can tolerate being outmatched – what I cannot stand is being out “hearted” and that’s what happened.  If you’re going to go into the top game with no desire to be there – have enough respect for my time to lose in the 1st game of the day so I can get to my couch.  (Please note: this is directed at my kid only… for all of those parents I spend a tremendous amount of time with – I judge only  MY child’s lack of heart).

As I said… I knew early on we were headed for obscurity.  I had 5 innings to practice my “Hey 2nd place ain’t bad, you should be proud of yourself” speech.  At the end of the game parents lined up to take pictures – I was not one of them… I stood back rolling my eyes, disgusted (if you’ve ever seen Pee Wee’s Big Adventure… think Pee Wee barely tolerating the tour of the Alamo).  Alex came over with a smile on her face , I asked how she was (she took a couple off the mask) – now out of the fold of her beloved teammates, she dropped the smile and grunted.  I put on MY fake smile, did my best impersonation of a liar and said, “well…. 2nd place is ok, nothin’ to sneeze at…” Alex looked up from her bag like she was gonna cut me, “yeah…” then tossed her dumbass 2nd place trophy in her bag.  Didn’t talk to us for 2 hours.

Schwew…. for a while there I was afraid she was ok with 2nd place….

 

We have a boy.

We have a dog.

That’s about where the connection ends… mostly.

Alex is the in-house animal whisperer. Pretty much, when we need for the dog and/or cat to behave a certain way, we open with, “Alex! Can you get the cat/dog to…..” She has always had a connection with our animals.

Abby… only connects with reptiles, I’m pretty sure she speaks parseltongue… (ok, no she doesn’t. It’s not even a real thing – I am currently immersed in the Harry Potter books and as such, I’ve mentioned Abby/parseltongue at least thrice today. Parseltongue is the ability to converse with snakes and is most commonly associated with the Dark Lord… hahaha if any REAL person could speak parseltongue, it’d be that girl). But in the non-wizarding realm, Abby has no real connection to the animals – as a matter of fact, BrettFavre (the cat not the man) takes a swipe at her frequently when she breezes by him. ‘Course right now he’s curled up on her, purring….

Cal couldn’t care less about the animals. He… is me – he neither loves them nor loathes them. They are… that’s it. It’s odd because he’s such a lover, I really expected a deeper relationship. Brownie (the dog) has taken to sleeping in Cal’s room – right beside his bed. It’s pretty cute, it’d be unbearably cute if Cal had any affection for the dog whatsoever. Let me say again, he doesn’t DISLIKE Brownie, he just doesn’t give her too much thought (unless she’s hurt or not feeling well, etc.). Brownie has, unfortunately, always smelled bad (only to find out a decade later – German Shepherds are one of the worst smelling dog breeds :/ ) and always had nauseating breath (completely our fault) and she has always, ALWAYS, thought she was a lap dog. These traits are not endearing. Cal and I find them especially not endearing.

Of course – she’s hanging on well past her life expectancy (after all, there’s more undercoat to spread). It seems Shepherds are expected to live 7 to 10 years, Brownie will soon be 12. She has very little energy left – except to cram her face into my face and breath that stank-ass breath on me… Every time Alex looks at her, Brownie is in the middle of a breath – we are literally watching for her to stop breathing – and Alex starts to panic if her stomach doesn’t rise or fall immediately. The dog seems extremely happy and content at this point but we are bracing ourselves for the time her stomach doesn’t rise again, or worse yet, when we have to make a decision…

Anyway, back to Cal and Brownie. Years ago… YEARRRRS ago – I think Cal had to be in the 2-year old range; I got home from work to find Alex (4) and Cal outside with our sitter (Annie, I was going to write ‘nanny’ but I didn’t want to sound all high falutin… you still have your own computer login here, clearly more than a “sitter”). Annie left and I looked to Alex and Cal and said, “I’m running upstairs to change clothes – I will be right back down.” I had shorts and a t-shirt laying on the bed and was basically a round curtain and some glitter away from being that lady at the circus who changes outfits – I couldn’t have been upstairs for more than 2? 3? minutes, if that. I got back outside to – no Calvin.

I was asking Alex where he was, screaming – SCREAMING – his name, frantically looking around the house (we live on a moderately busy road… I shudder to even imagine………). I called my dad, “I’VE LOST CALVIN HE’S NOWHERE TO BE FOUND!” Frantic is the word I’ll use here but any parent who has been in a similar situation knows……. knows there is no word to adequately express the feeling. I was running around the house for the second time and I don’t know why or what made me look down the alley that runs behind our house – Cal was so small, he shouldn’t have been able to traverse our patio steps – but there he was, my little physically advanced boy walking down the alley – headed God knows where, just away from this dump. And there was Brownie – walking circles around him. She was also 2 years-old – about the age a shepherd comes into “protection mode”. She didn’t stop Cal but as he walked forward, she walked around and around and around him. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

My love for Brownie begins and ends with her undying devotion to the safety of my children – that is why I wanted her, she has never let me down. About 6 months ago the kids were home alone when my dad walked into the house, now… my dad is here almost daily and Brownie stays with Pop when we go away, Pop is not a stranger… but he caught Brownie off guard, she didn’t have time to register just who was in the house. My dad said it was unbelievable – he got her calmed down quickly once she realized it was him – but there was no question – NOBODY was going to harm my babies. That dog is the most beautiful, sweet, kind hearted, lover of a dog – but first and foremost, she is our protector. I often pet her and tell her “thank you, girl… for protecting the loves of my life.” Then she starts prancing around, steps on my bare foot and blows death into my face until I’m pushed to yelling, telling her she smells bad and to get away from me – I’m not proud of myself, people – she just always has to push it… it’s never enough.

We are… well, we’re asshole dog owners. We know she would never hurt anybody (unless provoked) so we are not exceptionally responsible about keeping her in the yard. Her roaming the neighborhood is almost always the result of me falling for her innocent, “I’m just going to lay here on the step” routine – I go back 5 minutes later and she’s gone. I allow this because I know she’s such a wonderful dog – I’m a complete and utter asshole because, not everybody knows she’s such a wonderful dog. So, there I was – a tad irritated with her (even more so with the kids) when I got a call from my mBFF (the in-town mailman) telling me he got a call from my home mailgirl saying Brownie was not where she should be… Brownie would NEVER hurt anybody without serious provocation but… she is a tad intimidating, so I was worried.

Then I got this picture:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And my heart melted. Cal walked to the pediatrician’s office for his monthly bee shot; Brownie followed him then waited at the door for Cal to come out. This picture brought tears to my eyes… and then… I thought, “HOLY SHIT!!! What if some unsuspecting, little kid opened that friggin door????” Frantic calls ensued. She was back home without incident. So much for enjoying the innocence of the love between a boy and his dog!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last night as we enjoyed dinner, the 4 of us discussed sports. (There were only 4Is because a friend of Abby’s invited her for a sleepover – it’s not the 1st time either… I find this slightly disturbing…  these people are repeatedly volunteering to take Abby into their fold – I’m starting to question the parents’ decision making skills…..).

It’s no secret my kids got their unhealthy sense of competition from me (I guess it could be Dan… he’s pretty ridiculous about it, too – nah I’m exponentially worse…  see? I’m even competitive about who’s more competitive).  Either way, they want to win and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them give less than their all in any game-time situation.

Last night Cal says, “….yeah he came back into the dugout after striking out and he was LAUGHING!!!  Me and Josiah wanted to punch him…”

I looked over, wide-eyed with the disappointment-riddled, I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that look on my face.

Cal caught my expression, wiped his exasperated hand down over his acquiescent face and said, “oh… sorry… Josiah and I wanted to punch him.”

 

This whole kid-in-the-gorilla-enclosure thing has sparked me to action… or words anyway…

I have so many issues with this entire situation – I’m not sure where to start.  Let’s start with the mom…

At what point in this lifetime did we become so fucking judgmental?  I won’t pretend to know exactly what went down to result in that kid ending up in the gorilla enclosure (and all of the attention being paid to the situation is a deterrent for me to read more about it) but let me say this: don’t you think this woman, this family, has been through enough – do we really need to run her parenting skills through the ringer?

I’m a pretty ok parent and only by the grace of god have my kids never ended up in this situation – well maybe not this PARTICULAR situation. I’m weird about zoos, irrational to say the least but, in all honesty – if I didn’t hate walking around in 98 degree temperatures, smelling animal dung – I’d probably be sitting here telling you my own horrific kid/zoo story.  First of all – kids are little assholes.  Ok, ok, ok that might be offensive – lemme talk only of what I know – MY kids are little assholes.  I can be very clear regarding dangerous situations and my kids will think they are immune to it all (well, not Alex – she’s of a different breed, but she is the exception and NOT the rule).

Cal, Abby and I hiked around Shawnee park Sunday, the most dangerous situation was a (maybe) 20 foot ledge on the path over the lake – how many times did I have to tell the kids to back up?  God forbid I lose myself in the flora and fauna of my surroundings – those little shits woulda been in the water – those little shits are a ton older than the kid in question.  My point being – who the hell are we to judge this mom?  In any public situation I am one over-sized-person-in-too-tight-clothes away from being totally distracted to the point my kid could be hanging over the edge of the Grand Canyon and I’d be all caught up in, “…does she NOT have a mirror at home????”

I don’t care if this woman was gawking at a hot mess of a person walking by; I don’t care if she was busy with another child.  I don’t care if this woman was overcome by shock at the size of an elephant’s penis (this actually goes back to a very early story in my parent’s marriage – “Dan!  look at that elephant!  He has FIVE LEGS!!!!”  “Shut up Eileen…..”) – no parent can ever say they have full control over their kids at all times.  The woman was taking her kid to the zoo – she was actively engaging her child… let’s save our judgement for – oh! yeah… we aren’t supposed to pass judgement…  hmmmmmmm novel thought.

I just read an article entitled “The 40 most hated players of the NFL” – number 39 was Brandon Bostick.  This name probably means nothing to most of you… to Green Bay Packers fans – his name conjures up an image of missed opportunities.  He was the guy who was supposed to block during an onside kick in the NFC Championship game a couple of years ago – the best hands in the league (IMO) were behind him – block for Jordy and we go to the Super Bowl… only… he decided his hands were just as good.  He bobbled the ball and 2 weeks later the Seahawks represented the NFC in the Super Bowl.

The connection?  He made a fucking mistake.  Like the mom in question – don’t you think he’d like to have that moment back????  And he’s one of the MOST HATED players in the game???  He didn’t stomp on a player while he laid on the turf… he made a split second decision that turned out not so good.  Really??? and this leaves him hated to such a degree that I’ve read he still needs therapy…  first of all – the game went on for a considerable time after that (including OT)…

Sorry, my tangent is taking on a life of its own – every situation can lead to a mistake, a life altering mistake – why do we as a people feel the need to question these decisions?  You think this mom isn’t questioning herself???  Dear God people, she wasn’t shooting up heroine and leaving her dirty needle around for her kid to find it – she took the kid to the zoo and he did what kids do – it ended badly, please show some compassion.  She will, for the rest of her life, relive that day (as will Brandon Bostick) it will be a living hell without you and I telling her what a POS she is…

Now to the gorilla.  I love the average Joe’s out there screaming, “he was protecting the boy!!!!!!” I’m not saying he was, I’m not saying he wasn’t – what I’m saying is – shut the hell up already.  If my kid is in a gorilla enclosure, unexpectedly – I want that gorilla shot.  I mean shoot that damned gorilla and shoot it again and again and again.  I don’t give 2 shits what Joe Blow thinks is going on in there – shoot that mother effer.  Is it sad?  hell yes.  Is it awful?  obviously.  I.don’t.give.a.shit.

‘If my kid is in a gorilla enclosure, unexpectedly…’ I’m leaving myself an opening here on the off-chance I toss one of them in in a fit of rage….

The zoo is now falling all over itself explaining why the shooter did what he (she?) did…  STOP!  you owe me nothing.  I will defer to your judgement every single time.  It would never occur to me to second guess a decision – an educated decision – that was time sensitive and involved the life or death of a human being.  There is nothing about this situation which warrants our criticism, our questions or any demands for answers.

Show compassion people.  A woman got distracted, her child did the unimaginable and a zoo worker had to do the unthinkable PERIOD.  You’d think this woman were on a bench, blitzed out of her gourd, got up stumbling thereby knocking her kid into the enclosure; with an excited zoo worker sitting there hoping something like this would happen so he could snuff out this animal like he was on a paid hunt.  Stop!  Let these people deal with their own, individual hell without judgement from us…

Let’s get this situation out of the headlines and instead let’s question why my music teaching sister-in-law is losing her job.  Ask why schools are cutting the arts – those very programs that have proven time and time again to develop our children beyond the core curriculum.  Quit calling out a tragically unlucky mom and start calling out the people who are doing more harm to our children by going against proven results.  Stop tearing apart a devastating situation with no chance for a positive outcome and start questioning bad decisions made by people who have other, more child-centric options.

Pick your cause – my sister-in-law is my cause of choice right now.  She teaches in North Carolina – quite a distance from my school district; but her situation will set a precedent.  We are losing our children to testing and bad budget decisions; one distracted mom is not our enemy – she is you and me on a regrettably national level, let’s spend our time protecting ALL of our kids….

 

A few years ago I saw my father put more effort into Christmas than I had ever seen in the previous 40 some odd years combined.  He had used letters from Alex’s (or Abby’s, God help me if it was Abby’s, “MOM they were MINE! NOT Alex’s…..”  shadddddup) – anyway… he had wrapped a box containing stencil letters – the kids had to rearrange the letters to figure out their gift.

This doesn’t seem like a great, big deal but trust me when I say – it.was.HUGE.  My dad is not a Christmas guy.  I think it was maybe the first Christmas after mom passed, which made it all the more heart wrenching (I loved that he was picking up where mom left off, I only wish she had been able to see it).

Anyway, after some time and some really bad guesses (“it says, ‘I owe you one mountain due’! YOU OWE US A MOUNTAIN DEW????” – Calvin) somebody figured it out.  I’d have to say it was Alex, Abby was only 5 and Cal, while brilliant, is a bit of a schlub.

Trampoline!!!  TRAM-PO-LINNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!!!!!

In the years following, the kids have spent a good deal of time on that thing.  We expected it would become ‘old news’ quickly but – to their credit, the kids still use it quite a bit. …to the point – Cal jumped through it; well, just one foot anyway.  If the fates loved me – I would’ve been there to witness this…  As it is, Abby retells it as best she can between the guffaws.

So for months, the trampoline has been out of service – Abby and her 45 pounds soaking-wet  physique (no way she’s actually mine) has been out there minimally and not able to really do what she likes to do (she’s our gymnast, that trampoline is her Mecca).

Weeks ago we ordered a replacement mat and the padding that covers the springs.  They (and their shipping cartons) found a nice, comfy spot in our living room and made themselves at home for at least 2 weeks; yesterday, I’d had enough.  I went out to take care of the replacement (Dan was doing a ton of cooking – for our anniversary I ordered crawfish, shrimp and gator sausage – with some local corn and not-so-local potatoes he did up a country boil.  I was left to my own devices for the trampoline makeover).

I was, uh… struggling.  There was sweating and swearing – both profusely.  For those of you who have assembled a trampoline – tell me that shit doesn’t suck.  For those of you who haven’t… that shit sucks.  In that it was a day of the week – I was pissed at Dan… therefore, there was no way I could allow him to help…  Alex on the other hand….

My girl and I got into a groove (using one spring to attach the next and so on) and had it pretty much licked when she said, “Mom I get to jump on it first – Abby always gets that kinda stuff.  I helped so I get the first jump.”  I agreed she had earned it but — sensing the inevitable argument (about the 1st jump and anything else they might discuss thereafter) I tried to be proactive.

jenius situation #1: “Hey now! I don’t want you guys out here fighting all the time…”

“wait… you DO or you DON’T want us out here fighting?”

This, my friends is the very girl who sat at our dinner table not a week ago lamenting about losing her 4 point oh (“I have a 3.95 – Yale is NOT interested in a 3.95”).

“Yeah Alex, I want you out here throwing down every day – knock the shit outta each other as much as possible.  If you can get help and gang up on whoever seems weakest that day – that’d be good, too.  Scream and yell while you’re doing it – let’s make sure the neighbors hate our bouncing guts…”

We had about 8 of 90 springs yet to connect when Pop showed up with Thing 2 and Thing 3…  I just about blew my top when he jumped down and helped.  ‘Ok dad, here… how about I run the ball 99 yards and flip it on over to you for the score…’  But, he’s a guy and my dad – he couldn’t very well NOT help (other than the time he and Dan leaned against my car while I changed the oil – you know, to make me a better person) – Alex and I just glanced at each other and grinned.

With the mat finally attached (Pop did the last spring bare handed – I was torn between being impressed and wanting to call him out on showing off) we decided to start on the padding.  First of all, I asked Cal to bring the box to me (you see, I am actually borderline genius… I KNEWWWWW what was coming).  The boy – who can hear a deer walking in the woods from 9,000 yards, didn’t hear me.  He opened the box inside.  And subsequently carried – dragged (drug????) – the padding across the wet, muddy yard (did I mention Brownie’s errant pooping affects the yard as well as our floors?).

There was yelling.

As we completely unfolded the mess Cal handed us – I noticed it was a perfect circle; my question is – why in the hell would they make it a complete circle???  It.is.a.replacement.part. – not intended to be put on during installation but after installation.  Briefly: it goes between the poles (attached to the frame) and the netting (attached to the poles) – without going into extreme details or including pictures it’s tough to explain how this situation nearly broke me.

Dad and I were disassembling perfectly good working parts – not so happily – when Dan came over and…

jenius situation #2, “isn’t there an opening?  You could just wrap it around…”

Remember how I mentioned I was ticked at him anyway?  This did not help his cause.  “oh, hell yeah it has an opening jackass… but that seemed way too quick and easy….”

We never did get around to tying the padding in place…  Oh! and the first jump?  It was all Alex… after Abby said, “take the first jump, I don’t care… I stood here and boinged my hand up and down on the new trampoline for a while… but yeah – you get the first jump.”

We’re assembling a gang tomorrow – chains, brass knuckles, the works – gonna beat the snot out of her when she’s in mid-back tuck.

Men… take note.  This is perfection!!!  A surprise whisk-away for our 19th anniversary.  Reservations at a local restaurant I’ve been wanting to try – The Twisted Trout (perfect for a special occasion).  Then to the Bedford Springs for a drink and a shared piece of pie (we wondered how it is we’ve never stayed at the Springs and promised to remedy that on year 20).  Then we went back to our room at The 1788 Inn – it’s a wonderful, new(ish) B&B in Breezewood – we were never more than 10 miles from home and yet I felt like we had traversed the globe on a whirlwind date night…  romance….

Incidentally – see how Dan is in my phone as “Poops” – I have a couple of points to make about this…  First, it’s our mutual pet name and the story of how it came about is boring, I try to stay away from boring stories…  Second, there is nothing and I mean NOTHING more infuriating than being in the midst of a knock-down-drag-out text fight with him and every time he sends one of his stupid, shithead, asshat messages my phone dings and I see, “Poops” pop up on my screen – let this be a warning, think wisely before creating a contact!  And third… if your husband is in your phone as “Poops” and your DAD is in your phone as “Pops” be über careful before sending those dirty texts… dads don’t want to know what you got in store for your husband later…

ok… so back to it being my anniversary – which it is, today, May 24th.  Nineteen years.  We only promised each other 60 – this really bugs the hell outta Calvin, “Mom, stop, are you and dad really gonna divorce in 2057?” …as if I’ll have the money for a divorce attorney after all of the plastic surgery.  I haven’t mentioned our special day a whole helluva lot today, as people will undoubtedly belittle our accomplishment – clearly anniversary-having is the only competition those people can win…  I really, REALLY loathe people who say shit like, “19 years?  Is that all?  You guys are newlyweds…. I’ve been married for 49 years…”  Does anybody else hate that???    Is it just me?  is it because of my personality disorder?

We’ve lived quite a bit in our 19 years, Dan Iseminger and I… we’ve gone to school as a married couple, had some kids, bought a house, bought a business, dealt with a terrible loss… I guess we do alright.  There are days, moments when I think about him and my heart hurts because it’s so full and I wonder why he’s stayed; I think, “You could do so much better.  You DESERVE so much better.”  And I close my eyes and hope with everything I have in me, that he never realizes this truth.

I also find myself frequently wondering what the hell he sees when he looks at me – it’s been 19 years, 3 kids and 30 some odd pounds and he still thinks I’m the hottest woman he’s ever seen – I don’t know if he’s just that wonderful or if he knows there’s no easy way out so he’s just talked himself into believing it…  I look at him and ask myself, “Why?  why am I so lucky?  what have I done to deserve him and this amazing life we share?”

And then there are times I wonder, “how bad can prison really be?”  I dunno, I’d like to say I marvel at couples who don’t fight, who don’t know marital strife, but mostly I just think – have they never remodeled?  do they not have mothers? or fathers? are they just 2 happily married orphans?   have they never had to read the same map?  are they independently wealthy?  have they never rowed a boat together?  have they always had duplicate checks in their shared checkbook?  when they make brownies… do they sit down and rationally discuss who will get the last one?  does nobody in their house fall asleep on the couch – every.single.night?  is everybody turning their clothes right-side out before washing?  do they not have a competitive bone in their body?  has neither partner ever experienced digestive issues?  how are these people not arguing?  have they never, for even 1 second, questioned their decision?

We’ve spent the better part of the last quarter century fighting about the most inane things… and I admit… it’s 97.9888% me.  Dan would love to be one of those angstless couples…

he done married the wrong girl.

I am the person who celebrates the minutiae of life (I spent 5 minutes this morning jumping on Abby because her newly-learned French-braiding was magnificent); I am also the person who will wage war over who slept worse last night…  passion is not a one-way street my friends.  For the most part, Dan has come to accept me and my emotionally unstable ways…  he’s learned to just wait it out.  That’s what a coupla decades will do to ya – it’ll wear ya right the hell down.

For my part… I’ve come to accept(?)… expect(!) immaturity (and not of the attractive variety… no cutesiness here, people).  There we were Saturday evening – at the Springs, in a romantic nook, holding hands across the table, looking into each other’s eyes – no words, just knowing smiles –  the smiles of 2 people who have spent years nurturing an intimacy of such profoundly deep proportions, it often catches us off guard…

*burrrrrrrppppppp*

His laughter matched the exaggeration of my eye-roll.  “Ooooh I seem to be rifting dinner.  [uncontrollable chuckling] ‘Rift’ – what a great word.  I mean… of course I think it’s perfect ’cause I know the definition but even if I didn’t… if you said ‘rift’ to me – I’d know exactly what the hell you meant.”

I leaned in… “is this foreplay? only askin’ ’cause ya know… I’m just trying to get a handle on the direction this evening is taking…”

So here we are… 19 years later.  Lots of things done right, a few screw ups, tons of remarkable memories, some things we’d like to forget, amazing shenanigans, questionable antics… and a whole lot of love.   We’re far from perfect, we’ve both made our fair share of mistakes (him more than me, obviously) but it works for us.

As we sat on the couch this morning, holding hands I asked, “You gonna work on that committee report tonight?”

“I hope not.”

“ok… I think I’ll make something special for dinner.”

he gave me the raised eyebrows

“ok… I’ll think up something special for YOU to make for dinner.”

he smirked

“ok… so once you get to the counter, tell them we want a whole box of tacos and – because it’s a special occasion – we’re going supreme tonight..”

Dan Iseminger you are my soul mate and I adore you.  Our lives could’ve taken so many different turns before we met and yet I know we would’ve found each other…  Thank you for never realizing your partner potential…

 

 

 

This morning I put some chicken in the crock pot.  To clarify… I put the word *cook* in quotations because I once mentioned crock pot cooking to an older, Italian, female, co-worker and she chastised me pretty righteously.  “That is NOT cooking!!!  I can’t believe you let something sit ALL DAY paying no attention to it and call what you are doing – COOKING!!”  In retaliation for that I started calling her when I was making pasta – “hey Nanc… hear that?  It’s the Prego sliding right outta the jar!”  I’m sure she was crossing herself and asking for forgiveness on my behalf.

My life – being no different from every other person I know – is way too busy to do anything other than crock pot the shit out of stuff.  Meals involve either a phone call or a crock pot – there is no other option.

Anticipating high praise, I called the kids to check in on them and ask, “does dinner have the house smellin’ all tasty?”

“Uhhhmmmm…. well… to be honest mom… it kinda smells like dog poop,” I could tell Cal’s face was all squished up.

In normal times – this would have warranted a nasty comeback… however……. we are having a little bit of an issue at our house these days with our elderly german shepherd.  She poops on the floor almost daily; you have no idea the stress this is causing – while not the neatnik I’d like to be, I am certainly NOT a person who is ok with dog turds on my floor EVER, let alone on a daily basis.  I’ve considered having her put down but dammit she still seems to be happy most of the time – I’m at the end of my rope.  So, when he told me dinner smelled like dog poop…

“Well son… considering our current dog situation… are you sure it ISN’T actually dog poop somewhere?”

“No, when we got home we smelled it pretty bad so me and Alex looked over the entire house.  Then we figured out — it’s dinner.”

 

 

 

So…. this February I bought a cake for a Valentine’s Day party I was throwing. I bought the cake online – it was WAY cheaper than any cake I could get around here. Unfortunately… I ordered the cake a little late; grrrrr the tracking number showed that it might not get here on time. I went to talk to a friend of mine – she owns a bakery, and asked her if she could whip me up a cake in time for the party later that evening. While we were standing there chatting a man came in and asked if my friend would sponsor his kid in a state-wide wrestling tournament again this year, she said, “Of course… get me the information and I’ll get you a check.” After he left, my friend said she’d have to work the next day (Sunday) to make her orders for Monday if she dedicated her whole day to my cake but she knew it was important to me so… she made a few phone calls and started to mix up the batter.

Meanwhile, my kids called and said the delivery man just put something on our porch. I told my friend thanks anyway but my online cake just showed up and asked her to please understand that I saved $10 by going with the internet option. She put the batter in the fridge, said she understood and wished me well with my Valentine’s Day party…

I got home and looked at the cake – it looked ok, but not like other cakes I’ve seen. I cut a slice of it and took it back to my friend; I showed her the slice and asked what the online bakery used to make this confection. I can’t believe she didn’t know – I mean SHE’S A BAKER for chrissakes!!!! She did offer to check out the website to see if she could figure it out. While she was searching the website for me, a few customers stopped in for baked goods; she took care of those people and left me standing there waiting for her (I was NOT overly thrilled). After about 15 minutes she came back with a list of ingredients. I thanked her, told her how wonderful she is and again, mentioned that if it weren’t for the savings I would NEVER have ordered my cake online.

A few weeks later we were planning a party for my dad’s birthday… we needed a cake. I went to my friend the baker. I asked her what kind of cake she suggested – you know, since she knows my dad so well. While we were discussing my dad’s likes, dislikes and his food allergies, the local librarian stopped in and thanked my friend for her donation to the summer reading program; my friend apologized for the smaller donation this year and explained her cake sales had really bottomed out because of internet bakery sites. We talked a few more minutes after the librarian left then I thanked my friend for her suggestions and went home to order my cake online. While I was waiting for my credit card to process, I looked over at my son’s Little League picture and my heart was so full of love, seeing him there in his jersey – with my friend’s bakery name emblazoned on the front, I counted back the years my friend had sponsored his team… 7? 8? When the cake came I couldn’t believe it was not what I ordered – even to the point of containing one of my dad’s allergens. My friend, the baker, came through for me – she quickly frosted a cake and brought it to the party because I was already entertaining guests and couldn’t leave… She’s a life saver (literally, in this case) but I have to admit, I was a little shocked when she charged me a delivery fee – with all the business I used to give her.

For my anniversary I price shopped all over the internet for a chocolate cake with peanut butter icing (if the icing didn’t get him, the money saving would!!!) – when I got the cake… the icing was white. I took a spoonful of the icing to my friend the baker and asked her what the online bakery sent me. She told me she had no idea and suggested I call the online bakery. I told her, repeatedly, about the automated system and subsequent non-existent customer service at the online bakery number. She said she was sorry but she couldn’t help me…

I am livid!!!

What the hell?????? Over the years I’ve given her a lot of business and now she can’t help me???? …wasn’t it her shop that made my kid’s birthday cake 2 years ago – she should remember, after all she delivered it during that blizzard ‘cause my car broke down??? Didn’t I give her a huge shout out that night she went into the shop at 11pm because my friends and I were craving her cupcakes? I gave her $5 extra a few years ago when she gave me that amazing castle cake for my daughter’s birthday even though I wasn’t going to be able to pay for it until I got paid at the beginning of the month. If she could save money she would jump at the chance… and now she can’t tell me what’s in this cake I got online?????

Ridiculous scenario, right? Yeah… not so much. Every time you see the word bakery – insert pharmacy, when you see cake, cupcake or icing – insert medication and now you know exactly what I deal with in these times of mail-order pharmacy (for that matter… you can write this same story about any small-town business). Please, I beg of you… please realize you might save a few dollars with mail-order but in so doing, you are destroying local businesses – the very people who sponsor your kids, your seniors, your local community events… I will NEVER jeopardize your health, I will NEVER let you go without medication BUT… If you come to us ONLY when you have an emergency, pretty soon – we won’t be there to help you out. If you still find mail-order justifiable – ok… I can live with that, I understand how expensive medications can be, but please understand I JUST CAN’T MAKE MAIL-ORDER EASY FOR YOU.

As I sat there watching my sister-from-another-mister glance through her enormous calendar during Pop’s birthday celebration last night, I started rattling off the Iseminger’s commitments for the day in question. I looked, with an unmistakable air of arrogance, at Gary (husband of Missy, said sister), tapped my forehead and said, “Mine’s all up here, baby… all. up. here.”

There is no bigger asshole on the face of this earth than me.

Who throws down the gauntlet like that? I might as well’ve stood up and said, “Hey Karma – here’s my ass… go ahead and give it a good, swift kick!”

Now… I will say it’s been a little bit of a week in this house. First there’s work – it’s not that I’m working an insane amount of hours, actually… I’m working less, it’s just that the schedule is a tad different than what I’m used to; and we’ve gone from a pretty set schedule to one that changes – sometimes – week to week. I just can’t seem to get a grip on when I’m working… 2 college degrees people, 2 college fucking degrees and I’m having trouble comprehending a clearly written calendar…

Anyway, aside from my confusion on when not to show up for work, since Monday we’ve had 3 softball games (1 canceled), 1 Little League game, 1 unscheduled practice, 1 no-practice on a regularly scheduled practice day, 2 gymnastics practices, 4 field trips (1 unattended but with a call from the school informing me my kid was not in school {?????} 3 frantic texts later confirming she WAS, actually, at school), 1 rescheduled Track and Field Day (which was canceled, again and rescheduled for next week) and 1 birthday celebration that went from 6 people eating pizza at OIP to 13 people eating dinner at one restaurant and getting dessert at another because the 1^st restaurant clearly needed for us to leave so they could close…. I won’t even get into the washing of uniforms for 3 consecutive days of games, the delivering of softball equipment every day at a (different) specific time, Dan needing to be AT work at 4am Tuesday morning for some kind of upgrade or the concession stand obligation affecting the when/where of the birthday celebration.

Schwew! While this – sadly – isn’t a huge deviation from our normal schedule… it also isn’t the norm. But hey! No worries people, ol’ Miss I-don’t-need-to-write-anything-down is right on top of it! Hahahaha Missy and her calendar… ROOKIE!

So… me and my computer like memory had a morning that went a little something like this:

6:52am – Dan woke me. God forbid he gather his clothes the night before – NOOOO – he has to get dressed in our bedroom… asshole. (truth be told; I feel bad for him. I used to be an insanely early riser and he used to be the slug-a-bed… now he has an early-start job and I can’t seem to get up before 6:30 – I carry some guilt for sleeping that late but buying the store compounded with my mom’s shitty lot in life has taken a disastrous toll on the quality of my sleep). So I woke up struggling with the self-loathing which accompanies such a late wake-up time and the desire to stay in bed all day.

6:56am – poured my first cup of coffee and Dan’s travel mug, sent him on his way with a grunt.

7:01am – telling myself to get my ass upstairs to wake the kids – thinking, “they have plenty of time… why rush this????” But some unknown force pushed me to get up.

7:03am – woke Cal, moved on to Abby

7:05am – Cal called out, “Mom! MOM.” I came out from Abby’s dungeon and saw a very concerned, yet strangely calm Calvin with a very take-charge kinda look on his face, “Mom, I have exactly 10 minutes to get to the bus.” (with realization washing over me like a bucket of ice water), “OH SHIT!!!! I TOTALLY FORGOT YOUR FIELD TRIP! DAMMIT – I WANTED TO GET UP AND MAKE YOU EGG SALAD. HOLY HELL 10 MINUTES – YOU GET DRESSED AND GATHER YOUR OTHER LUNCH STUFF AND I’LL RUN TO SHEETZ FOR A SANDWICH!!”

7:06am-7:08am – (tearing my room apart): I need pants, pants… any pants… ohmigod these sweatpants are god awful… I mean… what am I gonna do, I won’t see anybody and they go on so fast – well that’s cuz they’re 8 sizes too big… ugh the elastic at the ankle is ridiculous… they look so stupid, who am I? MC Hammer???… I won’t see anybody, right?? Surely not…. Shoes, uhm sneakers… dammit why do I always untie my sneakers??? No time to tie, flip flops… flip flops… sonuvabitch I just wore them yesterday… who can’t just put their clothes IN the laundry basket??? Why do we have clothes laying all over my shoes… (I picked up a lonely flip flop and screamed right at it): WHERE THE HELL IS THE OTHER FLIP FLOP????? geezus I coulda had my sneakers tied by now, forget the flip flops… no time for a bra, I need a baggy, thick sweatshirt… a baggy, thick sweatshirt… WHERE THE HELL ARE ALL OF MY SWEATSHIR…..oh here’s one.. draped over the laundry basket… with the other friggin’ flip flop under it – yeah that’s about right, now that I have my damned sneakers on… fuck you flip flop! Fuck.you. Purse… purse I need my purse… Has ANYBODY seen my pur… never mind!!! I got it…

7:10am – (left foot out the car door, the other slamming the brake hard): put ‘er into park before getting out Karen… man I really need to get myself together here… I can’t believe I’m out in public looking like this, please don’t let me see………

7:11am – oh Hiiiii! Karson… Corey… I, uh, we, uh, forgot about the field trip. …woke up a little late – Cal will be there though! (I take a few seconds to take in Corey’s appearance – slacks, nice shirt, basically just standing there being an adult with responsibilities… meanwhile, I’m standing there in 2X cheap-ass sweatpants from 1989, hair that had no chance of looking good even if I had tried and a mouth full of ick that needed, at the very least, a stick of gum…)

7:13am – (sliding into our alley sideways): ya got everything you need??? Don’t worry bud, Karson and Corey are still at Sheetz – we’re good!

7:14am – (at the light): oh crap, there’s Corey… he’s already dropped off Karson… ok… no worries! No worries! We’re good!

7:15am – (screeching to a halt): 7:15 on the dot my man… how ’bout us??? have a great trip bud, I love you!!!!

7:17am – (got home, dropped into the kitchen booth, took a deep breath and wondered why this last 15 minutes seemed more taxing than my last half-marathon): Momma, here’s the homework I was telling you about at the restaurant – we only have a few minutes….

After finally getting the girls on the bus (which, I might add, required no running by any person involved), I poured myself a 2^nd cup of coffee and thought, “I don’t know… maybe it’s time to admit I need a calendar. With a little heads up – that entire situation could’ve been avoided.” I sat down, swiped my phone awake and saw: “Reminder: Cal field trip 7:15 today”