Just over 15 years ago I was very pregnant with daughter #3, and due to the fact that I'm virtually hip-less, my babies never had any choice but to stick way out front. This caused an array of problems for me, some obvious one's (like wearing two completely different shoes without knowing it) and some not so obvious, like finding it more difficult to save peoples lives.
I say this because if you have ever had the opportunity to save someones life, you will understand the complexities of performing such a task. First of all, when the opportunity to "save" someone arises, most of the time you are totally unprepared for it. Secondly, once you have had the chance to gather you're faculties and have become fully aware of the situation, you find yourself already right in the middle of it and realize that you have been working on auto-pilot without really thinking. This is what happened when I had to save Doug's life one night.
As you recall, I was super pregnant, like due in five minutes or something like that. It was late and we were getting ready to go to bed when Doug asked; "What was that joke your dad was telling you yesterday?"
"Just the one about the guy with a wooden eye who goes to a dance and see's a girl with a club foot, so he asks her if she wants to dance and she says 'would I! would I!' and he gets offended and calls her 'hare-lip, hare-lip'. " I tell him.
"What does a hare-lip have to do with it if she has a club foot?" Doug asks. "I don't know, maybe she was born with a cleft pallet." I say. "Huh. Why didn't he call her club foot?" Doug asks. "I don't know. It's dumb. Goodnight..." and with that we fell asleep.
Now, if you have read my other posts you are aware that nothing ever happens at our house unless it's the middle of the night, so much later on in the middle of the night, after I was completely asleep and not aware that Doug had gotten up for some reason, I was awakened by a thunderous crash. Anyone who knows Doug also knows he is 6 ft. 6 and not a little sissy boy. When he fell, the house almost came down. It was so loud the shock of it jolted me awake instantly. In less than a second my brain tallied up the facts: Doug was on the floor possibly having a heart attack, it was pitch black outside and my bladder was so full I had to consider running to the bathroom first. Luckily my auto-pilot kicked in and I shot like a dart from my side of the bed with super-human speed. I didn't actually get out of the bed because it seemed much more reasonable to just scamper on all fours from one side of the bed to the other. Walking is one of those things that pregnant women just become accustomed to not doing. I had gradually, over the course of nine months, found myself doing everything to avoid actually standing up, and this time was no different. I scrambled up and across the bed so fast I found myself actually gliding on my pregnant belly (which was now playing the role of a bowling ball) and as if I had no control over my limbs whatsoever, my arms flew straight out in front of me making me all the more aerodynamic, like superman, if you can believe that. It's just incredible how easy flying can be when you really put your back into it. I couldn't stop no matter what I did, and there was hardly time to come up with a good plan for a crash landing while still keeping the little passenger intact. All I really know is that I was sleeping, and then I was scampering, and then I was sliding, and then I was flying and it wasn't until I was in mid-air that I realized I was going to land (hard) on something, and that something was Doug- who's life I was supposed to be saving. All of the sudden time slowed way down and I was floating in mid-air for a moment, long enough to figure out that if I turned halfway really quick and pulled my knees up, I could at the very least save the life of my unborn child. So that's what I did. Twisting and tucking in mid-air, I landed on Doug who had simply gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom, stood up too quickly and gotten dizzy. Not but three minutes had passed from the time we were both in bed. Now we lay together in a heap on the floor, Doug's face squashed against my belly, me stretched across him sideways holding the knee I had used to break my fall. We lay there in the stillness, Doug's breathing labored simply because I was suffocating him with my baby fat. Finally, a muffled voice came from out of the darkness:
"What the H--- are you doing?!" Doug asked as pointedly as he could through squished lips, "I'm saving your life! What the H--- are you doing?" I responded. With those questions out of the way we continued to lay there, stunned into dumb silence. At last I found the strength to get up off my husband, who by now looked almost dead. "Are you gonna get up?" I asked once I was on my feet, staring down at his lifeless form. "Should I? Maybe I should just sleep on the floor." He said without moving.
"Fine. I'll throw you a pillow." My knee was beginning to swell up and turn purple. I limped over to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Do you think the neighbors heard you fall? " I asked him, examining my knee, "It sounded like a bomb hit."
"I tried to lean against the wall, but it was further away than I realized." He explained, still stretched out on the floor.
"Aren't you glad I was here to resuscitate you?" I joked.
"You should have just let me die."
"Why would I do that?"
"You could've collected the insurance and saved your knee."
"Oh, I would never just let you die, would I? " I waited for a response. "Would I?" I asked again. Doug's voice trailed up from the floor, "Club foot, club foot."
Thursday
Beauty is in the eye of those who need glasses
Any woman who believes that beauty requires pain has never experienced the joy of just staying ugly. A few days ago, in an effort to keep up with the times in which we now live, I decided I should stop using regular razors and just go buy one of those new and improved techno-razors that everyone has been using forever. (Everyone except me, that is.) So, armed with the sharpest razor in the world, a can of tropical flavored shave gel and a guarantee that I would get the closest shave possible (according to the manufacturer) , I went into the bathroom and shaved my legs. Now, the promise that was made to me when I purchased this particular razor was that I would get the "closest" shave any razor has ever given to womankind, which is of course true, if your desire is to remove all the skin from your legs and yet still retain a fine layer of stubble. This razor did everything it promised; it shaved my legs and came very "close" to removing the hair also. But to make matters worse, I decided to be stupid and (thinking it would hide all the damage caused by the new razor) sprayed fake tan all over my legs which stung so bad it caused me to invent several new swear words that no one has ever heard before.
What is it with body hair that makes it attractive or unattractive? Leg hair is considered unattractive on women but not on men who, if they were to shave their legs, would be considered gay. Facial hair is like this also, women can't grow full beards and get away with it. Most people consider this ugly. Men who are capable of growing full beards are accepted among society as normal people and mostly not ugly unless they were ugly before they grew the beard, in which case facial hair doesn't really help.
My sister(who is married to the Secret Service as you will recall from a previous post) happens to think the Secret Service is more attractive (not that he wasn't before) with a beard. Apparently when the Secret Service grows a beard, he loses his boyish good looks and is instantly upgraded to "Hot". Put him in his classic black suit and tie, put a wire in his ear and throw on the government issued sunglasses and allegedly my sister melts like butter on a warm skillet.
Of course, all good things can become bad if they are overdone. ZZ-top's beards are not attractive unless you consider ZZ-top attractive, which I don't. Although, my Mother-in-law always maintained that there is a lid for every pot and this must be true as I have never known ZZ-top to have produced a music video that didn't feature women with long (neatly shaven) legs who seem to find those bearded dudes attractive. And, according to their song titled "Legs", ZZ-top ( ugly or not) suggest that they like women who have legs and know how to use them. This could only mean that people like me who shave with an ice pick still have a few things to learn about the proper care and function of legs.
The same idea that there is a lid for every pot holds especially true in cases like Abraham Boxwood (not his real name) , a man we were once acquainted with through business who had the biggest case of buck teeth I ever saw. One guy in the office mentioned that Abraham could've eaten corn through a fence with those teeth. They should have had their own zip code. His teeth would often arrive at business meetings five or ten minutes before Abraham and even begin taking notes for him. Abraham had a wife that we never had the opportunity to meet, but she must have found something about the poor guy attractive, though I'm not sure what it was. None the less, the saying "There's a lid for every pot" seems to hold true. A comforting thought to anyone out there who feels like a lid-less pot, or a pot-less lid for that matter. But there is another saying that I find to be the most comforting of all: Beauty is in the eye of those who need glasses.
What is it with body hair that makes it attractive or unattractive? Leg hair is considered unattractive on women but not on men who, if they were to shave their legs, would be considered gay. Facial hair is like this also, women can't grow full beards and get away with it. Most people consider this ugly. Men who are capable of growing full beards are accepted among society as normal people and mostly not ugly unless they were ugly before they grew the beard, in which case facial hair doesn't really help.
My sister(who is married to the Secret Service as you will recall from a previous post) happens to think the Secret Service is more attractive (not that he wasn't before) with a beard. Apparently when the Secret Service grows a beard, he loses his boyish good looks and is instantly upgraded to "Hot". Put him in his classic black suit and tie, put a wire in his ear and throw on the government issued sunglasses and allegedly my sister melts like butter on a warm skillet.
Of course, all good things can become bad if they are overdone. ZZ-top's beards are not attractive unless you consider ZZ-top attractive, which I don't. Although, my Mother-in-law always maintained that there is a lid for every pot and this must be true as I have never known ZZ-top to have produced a music video that didn't feature women with long (neatly shaven) legs who seem to find those bearded dudes attractive. And, according to their song titled "Legs", ZZ-top ( ugly or not) suggest that they like women who have legs and know how to use them. This could only mean that people like me who shave with an ice pick still have a few things to learn about the proper care and function of legs.
The same idea that there is a lid for every pot holds especially true in cases like Abraham Boxwood (not his real name) , a man we were once acquainted with through business who had the biggest case of buck teeth I ever saw. One guy in the office mentioned that Abraham could've eaten corn through a fence with those teeth. They should have had their own zip code. His teeth would often arrive at business meetings five or ten minutes before Abraham and even begin taking notes for him. Abraham had a wife that we never had the opportunity to meet, but she must have found something about the poor guy attractive, though I'm not sure what it was. None the less, the saying "There's a lid for every pot" seems to hold true. A comforting thought to anyone out there who feels like a lid-less pot, or a pot-less lid for that matter. But there is another saying that I find to be the most comforting of all: Beauty is in the eye of those who need glasses.
Tuesday
Attention all men named...
several weeks back, our daughter Briti got a call on her cell phone from a man with a very heavy accent. "A sphinctar?" he asked after she said hello,
"what?" she questioned back,
"A sphinctar?" he asked again, sounding cheery and upbeat.
"Excuse me?" came Briti's reply.
"As-sphinc-tar!" The man was clearly getting frustrated by then.
"A sphincter?" Briti asked, thinking this was surely a prank call.
"Es... Frrink... Der!!" The man finally enunciated much more slowly.
"Is Frank here?" Briti asked.
"Yah!" said the man with the accent, happy she finally understood. Unfortunately, he had the wrong number.
"what?" she questioned back,
"A sphinctar?" he asked again, sounding cheery and upbeat.
"Excuse me?" came Briti's reply.
"As-sphinc-tar!" The man was clearly getting frustrated by then.
"A sphincter?" Briti asked, thinking this was surely a prank call.
"Es... Frrink... Der!!" The man finally enunciated much more slowly.
"Is Frank here?" Briti asked.
"Yah!" said the man with the accent, happy she finally understood. Unfortunately, he had the wrong number.
Sunday
Oh Satan, you silly goose!
I would like to discuss with you a person of interest that most of us in society today find to be generally very unpleasant; Satan. Satan is considered a menace largely because he is one of the most annoying people anyone has ever encountered. Now, I make it a general rule of thumb to try not to gossip about other people in an effort to avoid hurting their feelings, but Satan doesn't count. We can gossip about Satan all day long if we want to, and never be brought to judgement for it. In fact, we are encouraged to warn people about Satan and even treat him very badly by making him leave the premises- and we're praised for doing so! Satan is the one person that we are supposed to be rude to, a concept rather hard to grasp by many, many people across the globe.
Satan is like the kid in the neighborhood that picks his nose and smells like tomato soup. Nobody really wants to be around him and you could say that right to his face but it never seems to sink in. He never gets the hint. He keeps showing up largely uninvited and wants to hang out. Parents really don't like their kids to hang out with Satan because they usually consider him to be a bad influence. Whenever kids are with him, they tend to get into trouble, and kids are the one's who usually have the hardest time being rude to Satan. Think about it this way: we drill it into our kids heads that they have to be kind to everyone and yet they are supposed to ignore Satan, order him leave, and never ever invite him to any party! We would ground our children if they ever treated another person the way we are telling them to treat Satan. No wonder they're confused! This must be the reason so many of our young people are on drugs, fornicating and staying out past curfew. They don't want to hurt Satan's feelings! Imagine the following scenario: A teenage girl comes home at 2 a.m. and explains to her furious mother that while at her best friends house, another group of friends came over and picked them up to go visit even more friends, and while with this group of friends who were visiting friends, other friends called and wanted them to come over. So the teenager gets into a car with her best friend and their other friends and their friends and while en route to visit the latest group of friends, the best friends dad calls and tells his daughter that she has to go home, so the friend that is driving has to turn the car around and go drop off the best friend. Then, as soon as they are back on the road and almost to their original destination, the friend who was driving suddenly noticed the time and since they were almost to the latest friends house, the friend with the car decided to drop all the other friends off and just leave them there in order to get herself home on time. (Just as a side note, this is exactly the type of explanation I get from one of my own teenage daughters when she is out past her curfew.) The teenager continues to explain how they had waited and waited for the parents of one of the friends to show up and give each of them a ride home but as it turned out, they never showed up because those parents had left town the day before and weren't due back until three days later. Finally, the teenage girl's mother speaks up and asks a series of important questions beginning with "Why didn't you call me?"
"Because nobody had a phone except Satan, and he wouldn't let me use his." The girl replies
"Satan!? You were with Satan??" exclaims the mother in horror and disbelief, "How many times have I told you that you are never to go anywhere with Satan!" The girl realizes her mistake and immediately tries to defend him, "What has Satan ever done to you? Geeze mom, your sooo judgemental!"
"Every time you are with him, you do something stupid!" The mother scolds,
"Like what?" demands the girl,
"Like getting into a car after midnight with a group of kids that I've never met and staying out until two in the morning without so much as a phone call!"
" I told you that nobody had a phone!"
"Satan had a phone, but he wouldn't let you use it!!"
"He didn't want anyone to use up all his minutes!"
"He is not the kind of guy I want you hanging around with!"
"Because of that?"
"Because he's fowl mouthed, bad tempered and violent! And besides, Terlene Harris told me that he talked Alice Henry into fornicating with that Freddy Gibson and Freddy got her pregnant!"
''Freddy almost got her pregnant." The teenager corrects,
"How do you almost get someone pregnant? There is no such thing as almost being pregnant, you either are or you aren't! They don't have a pregnancy test with a window for a 'yes', a ' no' or an 'almost' !"
"So what am I supposed to do, hurt Satan's feelings? You may be able to do that but I can't!"
"Oh for Pete's sake, it's Satan! He doesn't have feelings!"
The irony of this is that we mother's really aren't sure of whether or not Satan has feelings. In fact, for most of us who have a natural tendency toward nurturing, we may have actually worried about Satan's feelings, cared about them and had no desire to cause him more misery than he already has. Take Helen Marshall for example; Satan always shows up at Helen's house about the same time every month, like clock work. She could just be doing the dishes and minding her business when Satan comes over and begins pointing out all the work Helen does around the house with barely a word of thanks from her family. Helen begins to see some truth in this and is suddenly seized with an overpowering urge to go find her husband and kick him for what he will assume is no apparent reason. Instead of just getting a backbone and demanding Satan leave her and her family alone, she only blushes at Satan's suggestions and responds shyly with "Oh Satan, you silly goose, why would I want to hurt my sweet husband?" Later we discover that it's women like Helen who end up not only kicking but killing they're poor husbands when something as basic as a midol would have done the trick without a prison sentence attached.
I suppose this is one of the many reasons that no one really likes Satan. He has been involved in more scandals and life sentences than anyone could count, he defrauds and con's people, disrupts relationships and encourages my husband to pass gas in the car on the freeway in a snowstorm, thereby ensuring there will be no escape for those of us who have had the misfortune of being born with a nose. Does Satan get a bad rap? No, but it's the little things he does that bother us the most. When you lose your car key's, you can bet Satan had something to do with it. When you trip on the sidewalk in front of someone you want to impress, it's Satan. When you have finally saved up enough money to retire and then find out you need a triple bypass, Satan! The only good news about Satan is that when we are really backed into a corner, Satan serves as a perfectly acceptable scapegoat. And he doesn't smell like tomato soup.
Satan is like the kid in the neighborhood that picks his nose and smells like tomato soup. Nobody really wants to be around him and you could say that right to his face but it never seems to sink in. He never gets the hint. He keeps showing up largely uninvited and wants to hang out. Parents really don't like their kids to hang out with Satan because they usually consider him to be a bad influence. Whenever kids are with him, they tend to get into trouble, and kids are the one's who usually have the hardest time being rude to Satan. Think about it this way: we drill it into our kids heads that they have to be kind to everyone and yet they are supposed to ignore Satan, order him leave, and never ever invite him to any party! We would ground our children if they ever treated another person the way we are telling them to treat Satan. No wonder they're confused! This must be the reason so many of our young people are on drugs, fornicating and staying out past curfew. They don't want to hurt Satan's feelings! Imagine the following scenario: A teenage girl comes home at 2 a.m. and explains to her furious mother that while at her best friends house, another group of friends came over and picked them up to go visit even more friends, and while with this group of friends who were visiting friends, other friends called and wanted them to come over. So the teenager gets into a car with her best friend and their other friends and their friends and while en route to visit the latest group of friends, the best friends dad calls and tells his daughter that she has to go home, so the friend that is driving has to turn the car around and go drop off the best friend. Then, as soon as they are back on the road and almost to their original destination, the friend who was driving suddenly noticed the time and since they were almost to the latest friends house, the friend with the car decided to drop all the other friends off and just leave them there in order to get herself home on time. (Just as a side note, this is exactly the type of explanation I get from one of my own teenage daughters when she is out past her curfew.) The teenager continues to explain how they had waited and waited for the parents of one of the friends to show up and give each of them a ride home but as it turned out, they never showed up because those parents had left town the day before and weren't due back until three days later. Finally, the teenage girl's mother speaks up and asks a series of important questions beginning with "Why didn't you call me?"
"Because nobody had a phone except Satan, and he wouldn't let me use his." The girl replies
"Satan!? You were with Satan??" exclaims the mother in horror and disbelief, "How many times have I told you that you are never to go anywhere with Satan!" The girl realizes her mistake and immediately tries to defend him, "What has Satan ever done to you? Geeze mom, your sooo judgemental!"
"Every time you are with him, you do something stupid!" The mother scolds,
"Like what?" demands the girl,
"Like getting into a car after midnight with a group of kids that I've never met and staying out until two in the morning without so much as a phone call!"
" I told you that nobody had a phone!"
"Satan had a phone, but he wouldn't let you use it!!"
"He didn't want anyone to use up all his minutes!"
"He is not the kind of guy I want you hanging around with!"
"Because of that?"
"Because he's fowl mouthed, bad tempered and violent! And besides, Terlene Harris told me that he talked Alice Henry into fornicating with that Freddy Gibson and Freddy got her pregnant!"
''Freddy almost got her pregnant." The teenager corrects,
"How do you almost get someone pregnant? There is no such thing as almost being pregnant, you either are or you aren't! They don't have a pregnancy test with a window for a 'yes', a ' no' or an 'almost' !"
"So what am I supposed to do, hurt Satan's feelings? You may be able to do that but I can't!"
"Oh for Pete's sake, it's Satan! He doesn't have feelings!"
The irony of this is that we mother's really aren't sure of whether or not Satan has feelings. In fact, for most of us who have a natural tendency toward nurturing, we may have actually worried about Satan's feelings, cared about them and had no desire to cause him more misery than he already has. Take Helen Marshall for example; Satan always shows up at Helen's house about the same time every month, like clock work. She could just be doing the dishes and minding her business when Satan comes over and begins pointing out all the work Helen does around the house with barely a word of thanks from her family. Helen begins to see some truth in this and is suddenly seized with an overpowering urge to go find her husband and kick him for what he will assume is no apparent reason. Instead of just getting a backbone and demanding Satan leave her and her family alone, she only blushes at Satan's suggestions and responds shyly with "Oh Satan, you silly goose, why would I want to hurt my sweet husband?" Later we discover that it's women like Helen who end up not only kicking but killing they're poor husbands when something as basic as a midol would have done the trick without a prison sentence attached.
I suppose this is one of the many reasons that no one really likes Satan. He has been involved in more scandals and life sentences than anyone could count, he defrauds and con's people, disrupts relationships and encourages my husband to pass gas in the car on the freeway in a snowstorm, thereby ensuring there will be no escape for those of us who have had the misfortune of being born with a nose. Does Satan get a bad rap? No, but it's the little things he does that bother us the most. When you lose your car key's, you can bet Satan had something to do with it. When you trip on the sidewalk in front of someone you want to impress, it's Satan. When you have finally saved up enough money to retire and then find out you need a triple bypass, Satan! The only good news about Satan is that when we are really backed into a corner, Satan serves as a perfectly acceptable scapegoat. And he doesn't smell like tomato soup.
Thursday
The grass is always greener over the Toilet tank
The next lesson for today comes from my Uncle, a very dignified man. Polished, handsome and well educated, he recently retired from his position as an economics professor at a prominent University. Think of him in an Indiana Jones sort of way. His first love has always been geology. He loves rocks. But, like Professor Jones, he chose to pursue a career in teaching rather than travel the globe in pursuit of rocky adventures. But also like Indiana, adventure seemed to find him.
Now, I'm not sure my Uncle would want his reputation as a competent professional to be ruffled by using his real name. He does in fact have many associations with other highly regarded individuals. So, out of respect for my Uncle, I will call him "Nancy".
Nancy was traveling some years ago, along with his wife and my parents, to a family reunion. Seeing as they had been in the car for some time, they decided it was time to stop at a gas station. After gassing up and such, they thought it best to take advantage of the restrooms while the opportunity was there. After a few minutes, everyone returned to the car except for Nancy. They waited and waited for him, and after a while thought that maybe somebody should go in and find him to see if he was alright. Just as they were about to do that, Nancy returned to the car. He was red in the face and refused to give any explanation as to what took him so long. They traveled on and some hours later, arrived at a relatives home for the reunion. Later that night after some prodding, Nancy finally divulged his restroom secrets.
He told the others that he had gone into a stall and locked the door. When he was ready to leave, he tried the stall door, but it wouldn't open. Making sure it was unlocked, he tried again and again to open the door but to no avail. He finally looked over his options. He called for help but the room was empty. Then he thought to crawl under the door but for some reason decided against it. After all his failed attempts to free himself from his toilet prison, he finally decided that he had no choice but to climb over the stall. He stood up on the toilet, got his footing on the toilet paper holder and threw a leg over the stall door as one would if he were about to mount a saddle, only not quite making it. With one leg over the top of the door and both hands clasped tightly to it, the weight of his body caused the door to swing open, just as another guy walked into the bathroom. He'd been trying to open the door the wrong way but didn't realize that until he was ontop of the door, riding it like a horse while some guy stood there and watched.
Uh hu. True story.
Now, I'm not sure my Uncle would want his reputation as a competent professional to be ruffled by using his real name. He does in fact have many associations with other highly regarded individuals. So, out of respect for my Uncle, I will call him "Nancy".
Nancy was traveling some years ago, along with his wife and my parents, to a family reunion. Seeing as they had been in the car for some time, they decided it was time to stop at a gas station. After gassing up and such, they thought it best to take advantage of the restrooms while the opportunity was there. After a few minutes, everyone returned to the car except for Nancy. They waited and waited for him, and after a while thought that maybe somebody should go in and find him to see if he was alright. Just as they were about to do that, Nancy returned to the car. He was red in the face and refused to give any explanation as to what took him so long. They traveled on and some hours later, arrived at a relatives home for the reunion. Later that night after some prodding, Nancy finally divulged his restroom secrets.
He told the others that he had gone into a stall and locked the door. When he was ready to leave, he tried the stall door, but it wouldn't open. Making sure it was unlocked, he tried again and again to open the door but to no avail. He finally looked over his options. He called for help but the room was empty. Then he thought to crawl under the door but for some reason decided against it. After all his failed attempts to free himself from his toilet prison, he finally decided that he had no choice but to climb over the stall. He stood up on the toilet, got his footing on the toilet paper holder and threw a leg over the stall door as one would if he were about to mount a saddle, only not quite making it. With one leg over the top of the door and both hands clasped tightly to it, the weight of his body caused the door to swing open, just as another guy walked into the bathroom. He'd been trying to open the door the wrong way but didn't realize that until he was ontop of the door, riding it like a horse while some guy stood there and watched.
Uh hu. True story.
Never close your eyes while on a treadmill
There is a particularly important tip that I will give you today: Never close your eyes while still on a treadmill. It is by sad experience that I learned this embarrassing lesson. You see, one fine day while at the gym, I was running on the treadmill. Anyone who has actually done this knows that after running at a good clip for awhile, you begin to sweat and may become tired. This was the case for me that day. I had been running for about thirty minutes and I still had five or so minutes left on the clock. The timer was ticking away more and more slowly it seemed. I tried to distract myself by watching the guy next to me who had come into the gym and gotten on a treadmill wearing what looked like lederhosen (those short German overalls with the suspenders), a big straw hat, hiking boots and a walking stick. He must have been about forty years old, but he had a wiry gray ZZ top-ish beard that didn't end until it reached his navel. Quite honestly, he looked like the roaming Gnome.
Now, as grateful as I am in cases like this for such a distraction, the traveling Gnome didn't keep my attention for very long. Images of the Gnome's life had flashed through my head rather quickly (he had a wife and two children, they lived in a tree somewhere, or maybe in a van down by the river, they ate porridge that could be left in a pot for up to nine days, they scheduled exactly what time they would eat their cheese, their only toiletries consisted of a shovel and some really big leaves, etc.) but the images were gone as soon as my body decided it could just not go any longer. With only two minutes left on the timer, I was determined to go the length. I mean, what if this were not just a run on a treadmill but a run for my life? What if I were being chased by aliens or a man with a bloody machete? Would I not run the two minute distance to safety? Yes, we all would. So in a final exhausted effort to finish the race, I decided not to look at the clock and focus on the time, but rather, close my eyes. I don't know. I just don't know why I did that because as soon as I did it I regretted the decision. My head got instantly dizzy and the earth began to spin. I stumbled backwards and realized I was about to either go down or hit the wall behind me with incredible force, so I threw my arms out to catch myself- screaming "Mommy!" out loud- and in one totally ungraceful movement, attempted to jump up on the sideboards and grab the handles. I got one foot secured okay but the other one was dragged behind me a bit and it took all my strength to lift it up and slap it on the side board to safety as it twisted and flipped and nearly kicked me in the butt. finally secure, I found myself straddled in a somewhat squatted position over the belt of the treadmill that continued to whir along beneath me while I white-knuckled the handles. I looked like an idiot of course, but trying to maintain some form of dignity I smiled like a geek at the roaming Gnome who was looking at me as if I were the weirdo of the day. None the less I stayed there like that just smiling at him for a while, then eventually I turned off the treadmill, waited for it to completely stop, gathered my things and whistled my way out of the building.
There are many important lessons to be learned from this. First, it's important that we exercise caution whenever we close our eyes while in motion, and second; whenever you see someone you think is really weird, chances are they are thinking the same thing about you.
Now, as grateful as I am in cases like this for such a distraction, the traveling Gnome didn't keep my attention for very long. Images of the Gnome's life had flashed through my head rather quickly (he had a wife and two children, they lived in a tree somewhere, or maybe in a van down by the river, they ate porridge that could be left in a pot for up to nine days, they scheduled exactly what time they would eat their cheese, their only toiletries consisted of a shovel and some really big leaves, etc.) but the images were gone as soon as my body decided it could just not go any longer. With only two minutes left on the timer, I was determined to go the length. I mean, what if this were not just a run on a treadmill but a run for my life? What if I were being chased by aliens or a man with a bloody machete? Would I not run the two minute distance to safety? Yes, we all would. So in a final exhausted effort to finish the race, I decided not to look at the clock and focus on the time, but rather, close my eyes. I don't know. I just don't know why I did that because as soon as I did it I regretted the decision. My head got instantly dizzy and the earth began to spin. I stumbled backwards and realized I was about to either go down or hit the wall behind me with incredible force, so I threw my arms out to catch myself- screaming "Mommy!" out loud- and in one totally ungraceful movement, attempted to jump up on the sideboards and grab the handles. I got one foot secured okay but the other one was dragged behind me a bit and it took all my strength to lift it up and slap it on the side board to safety as it twisted and flipped and nearly kicked me in the butt. finally secure, I found myself straddled in a somewhat squatted position over the belt of the treadmill that continued to whir along beneath me while I white-knuckled the handles. I looked like an idiot of course, but trying to maintain some form of dignity I smiled like a geek at the roaming Gnome who was looking at me as if I were the weirdo of the day. None the less I stayed there like that just smiling at him for a while, then eventually I turned off the treadmill, waited for it to completely stop, gathered my things and whistled my way out of the building.
There are many important lessons to be learned from this. First, it's important that we exercise caution whenever we close our eyes while in motion, and second; whenever you see someone you think is really weird, chances are they are thinking the same thing about you.
Wednesday
The African with swan flu
Our oldest daughter Briti is very bright, most of the time. She works as an office manager and wants to start school in the fall and become a nurse. She will be a great nurse, once she learns a few basic terms. This is the daughter who wanted me to kill the giant spider, as you may recall from a previous post. To continue on that theme for a moment, after reading that post the other day, Briti informed me that all she really wanted me to do (rather than simply kill the giant spider) was "walk" her down the stairs. "What would walking you down the stairs have done?" I questioned her,
"I would have felt safer." She replied,
"Because I was there to hold your hand?" I asked,
"No, I didn't need you to hold my hand." She said,
"Then exactly how did you picture we would walk down the stairs together, link arms?" said I,
"No. I thought you would go first." She muttered under her breath,
"What? Go first! So I could kill the spider with my bare feet?" I asked in surprise,
"Mothers are supposed to sacrifice their lives for their children." She tells me,
" I only lay down my life for people who don't have arms and legs." I say,
"I didn't want the spider to bite me, I'd get a disease and die."
"Spiders don't spread diseases," I tell her, "They poison you."
"Well being bitten by a poisonous spider probably feels just like the swan flu." She informs me.
"The swan flu? What's the swan flu?"
"Isn't that what everybody is dying of now? Like the bird flu?"
"You mean the Swine flu?"
"What's swine? Is that pigs or a birds?" She asks
I stare at her.
"Hi." I begin, "You don't know what a swine is?"
"I thought it was the swan flu, like the rest of those birds with the flu." she explains.
"What?" by now I'm laughing,
"Aren't swans birds?" she asks,
"Yes daughter, they are of the bird family."
"Then what's a swine? Is it swan or swine when there's more than one? Do you say 'A family of swan' ? Like Moose, do you say meese or moose or moose's? Or mice?''
I can't answer her because I am laughing so hard.
"Mom! I'm serious! You don't want me to look dumb do you? You want me to know the right way to pronounce things don't you?"
"Oh, Briti." I sigh,
" And by the way, " she begins another question, " What's an apparition?"
"An apparition?"
"Yea, you said on your blog that I stand over you like an apparition." She says,
"Oh, it's a ghost, a spirit." I explain to her.
" Oh, okay. I thought it was some type of native, like an African."
"I would have felt safer." She replied,
"Because I was there to hold your hand?" I asked,
"No, I didn't need you to hold my hand." She said,
"Then exactly how did you picture we would walk down the stairs together, link arms?" said I,
"No. I thought you would go first." She muttered under her breath,
"What? Go first! So I could kill the spider with my bare feet?" I asked in surprise,
"Mothers are supposed to sacrifice their lives for their children." She tells me,
" I only lay down my life for people who don't have arms and legs." I say,
"I didn't want the spider to bite me, I'd get a disease and die."
"Spiders don't spread diseases," I tell her, "They poison you."
"Well being bitten by a poisonous spider probably feels just like the swan flu." She informs me.
"The swan flu? What's the swan flu?"
"Isn't that what everybody is dying of now? Like the bird flu?"
"You mean the Swine flu?"
"What's swine? Is that pigs or a birds?" She asks
I stare at her.
"Hi." I begin, "You don't know what a swine is?"
"I thought it was the swan flu, like the rest of those birds with the flu." she explains.
"What?" by now I'm laughing,
"Aren't swans birds?" she asks,
"Yes daughter, they are of the bird family."
"Then what's a swine? Is it swan or swine when there's more than one? Do you say 'A family of swan' ? Like Moose, do you say meese or moose or moose's? Or mice?''
I can't answer her because I am laughing so hard.
"Mom! I'm serious! You don't want me to look dumb do you? You want me to know the right way to pronounce things don't you?"
"Oh, Briti." I sigh,
" And by the way, " she begins another question, " What's an apparition?"
"An apparition?"
"Yea, you said on your blog that I stand over you like an apparition." She says,
"Oh, it's a ghost, a spirit." I explain to her.
" Oh, okay. I thought it was some type of native, like an African."
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