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Passing the Test

16 Apr

The gas gauge dinged at me as I pulled out of my garage with 30 minutes until my new job’s pre-employment screening.

Thirty minutes? I got this. I can make it there on time just fine.

Stopped at first station – plastic bags over the pumps.

Stopped at second station – card reader wouldn’t work.

Drove out of that station and realized I failed to close my gas cap. Seconds tick away in a bank parking lot as I get out of my car for the third time in five minutes.

The third station was a charm but I was losing valuable minutes and it was a Texaco, not my usual gas go-to. (I’m a loyal-to-one-fuel-for-my-ride kinda gal.)

Got to Human Resources right on time by my clock, but five minutes late by theirs. Everyone was very nice and I didn’t see it scribbled on any paperwork that I was late.

Went through awkward pee in the cup drug screening, TB test bubble in arm and blood draw for concerning diseases. Couldn’t understand simple instructions to fill out a form half in pencil and half in pen. Somehow, my brain shut down when it was being explained to me. This also happened during the cup collection. I kept repeating in my head, “Don’t wash hands, don’t flush toilet.” Goodness, the pressure of peeing in a cup the proper way.

When I was finally allowed to wash my hands, water soaked the front of my dress. Yes, right in that questionable “Did she have an accident?” spot.

Luckily, my dress dried with time to spare before lunch with my new boss. She showed me my – probably temporary – office. Temporary because they are still determining where the new team will be located but it will be so great to have an office for any length of time! It even has a window. I don’t know how to act.

During lunch, we had a nice time talking about the job and getting to know each other. The only awkward moment happened when I couldn’t bite through a pita chip and she very politely pretended not to notice my struggle with food half in and half out of my mouth. Of course, I had to point it out to her though. “Boy, that pita chip was harder than I expected!” She was sweet and said she’s had the same issue with them. That’s cool in my book.

Despite the hiccups here and there, I have very good feelings about what’s ahead. Plus, it only took me 25 minutes to get home! (On a full tank of gas.)

First Round of Tests Done! Ready for Next Step!

It Was Fun

14 Apr

My employee badge is turned in, my desk is cleared out (I think … please let me know if I forgot something) and my see-you-laters were said through tears.

My time at Children’s has come to an end but the memories and friendships I made there will stay with me. I will keep them safe and hold them dear for always.

Best "Bye" Card Ever

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Release

12 Apr

With only four commutes to Atlanta to go, a Rooms To Go truck got the best of me today.

If you know my driving history, it may be tough to believe I have maintained a relatively courteous and calm commute style – avoiding tailing others (when possible), allowing others (who properly use their blinkers) to merge in front of me and, unbelievably, not losing my temper at every jerkface driver I encounter. I actually adopted the reaction of smile and wave, but the shame-on-you mom head shake is another option that I enjoy and use frequently. (Also, giving a thumbs up while mouthing the words “You got real far, didn’t you?” as I pull beside someone at a red light who cut off a line of cars a few seconds earlier. For my added pleasure, I’ll throw in a hand clap of rub-it-in for them.)

But today, just two days before I break up with multiple bumper-to-bumper lanes of traff*ck, a Rooms To Go truck squeezed itself nearly on top of my Maxx to get in my, also not-moving, lane.

Well, my fierce middle finger couldn’t be controlled. It fired – and fired and fired. The truck’s driver saw it fire as I evasively merged in the other not-moving lane.

The driver must have thought he didn’t deserve such an ugly reaction so he began to honk at me. He kept pulling up beside my passenger side window and honking.

I never looked over. I did fire another middle digit at him – and a head shake. (Had to throw that one in.)

That’s when the next response happened. I sobbed. Uncontrollably. I sobbed for a good two miles which translates to 10 minutes for Atlanta traffic.

I was a mess but then I felt so much better after the tears stopped. In fact, I wanted to catch up to the driver and give him the signature, “I’m sorry” wave, complete with the “whoopsies” facial expression. (Didn’t happen.)

I guess I just needed the release. So, thanks for that Rooms To Go truck driver. However, I hope I don’t see you during my last three commutes.

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Buddies, Baseball and Bulldogs

2 Apr

Bulldog Baseball Fans

We met through a love of baseball – cheering on our three boys and their t-ball team. Now, a season or so later, I’m happy we were all able to get together again – this time to cheer on the Bulldog baseball team.

Georgia didn’t win but we all had a great time in the stands and watching all of our kids run the bases (twice) after the game. (Andrew may or may not have timed Nate. He was trying so hard to pass a much taller kid in front of him and was pretty McSpeedy. The girls did great in their flip-flops and fashion wear.)

Our boys aren’t on the same t-ball team this season (in fact, we have to play against each other in a few weeks!) but I have a feeling they will be rooting for each other from across the field. All three of them love the sport so purely and intently. They watched the entire game, wearing their gloves and talking stats.

Baseball buds.

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G-Chat Swoon and Why I Won’t Teach Our Kids Much …

6 Mar

Andrew:  Should I register anyone else for the race? There is a 1K.

me:  What is a 1k? Like 500 meters or something?

Andrew:  It is about 2/3 of a mile.

me:  Maybe just Nate if anyone.

I don’t know.

Andrew:  Aaaaaand it is 1000 meters (hence the 1 “K”)

me:  oooooooooh

you married me

Andrew:  And I would do it again.

Storm Luvah: Whatevah

3 Mar

Me, awake in fear, to Andrew: I hate weather like this.

Andrew, mostly asleep: I love it. (Goes back to sleep.)

Me: That doesn’t help me.

***

I wish I could have a shot glass amount of his (all-natural) no stress attitude.

Seriously though, how do people “love it”? I really think it’s all talk to help them not be afraid. They are trying to convince themselves to not be scared out of their skin each time the ground and house rattles with a larger-than-life, out of our control, boom from nature. I’d rather not poke an angry bear. “Nah, nah, nah! I’m not afraid of you!” BOOM. I feel bad enough downplaying my fear to the kids to help ease their fears. Maybe you storm luvahs are just trying to be the calm, sane one in the room?

If you really do “love storms” and can “sleep so well through them” (like I’ve heard people say), please tell me what specifically it is about the flashes of fierce light, rumbles of sky, and wind that tears trees and houses to pieces that you adore so much. It may help my stress level.

That is, if you can get me out from under the covers.

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Me vs. Dancing

1 Mar

I am not much of a dancer. I love to dance, but it doesn’t love me very much. I took dancing lessons when I was a child, but I had happy blinders on back then and only felt the joy of it, not the embarrassment. I dance in the kitchen when I’m cooking. I dance in front of the kids who only laugh when I really exaggerate my skills. (Their laughs make me happy so I actually exaggerate a lot around them. Plus, I don’t want them to ever be afraid to break it down like their mom.) I can’t even dance with my husband. (One of the reasons I was so happy my wedding dress covered my feet.) I’ve tried to dance in a dance-exercise class, but the other adult students, the instructors and the mirrors all made me feel self-conscious. It was all on me though. No one was being mean to me to make me feel that way. I was not being kind to myself and I never really felt encouraged. Then, my friend, Leigh, invited me to go to a Zumba class with her at a local church. I had attended another Zumba class once before because everyone talked about how fun it was. I ended up feeling like I always do. Well, that was a downer.

I remember the way I felt before meeting Leigh for the class. I didn’t want to go. I told myself, go to see Leigh and burn some calories. It was going to help my health. I’m so glad I convinced myself.

This Zumba class is special because of its instructor. Her name is Debbie and she has a refreshing spirit and uplifting smile. When I’m there, my mind doesn’t tell me I’m not good at it. Sure, it helps that there aren’t any mirrors, but I believe it comes down to Debbie’s personality and the friendly faces I see there each time I go. Leigh is a huge fan of Debbie’s and told me I should write a post about her for the Barrow Patch because her story may inspire others. Interviewing her made me feel like a journalist again. It was wonderful. I did get nervous before writing the post because I’m so used to writing all about me, me, me, but once I sat down to do it, I felt great.

Dancing did that. Maybe it likes me more than I thought it did. And even if it doesn’t, I don’t care. It’s impossible for me to hip shake or do the Running Man move without smiling.

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Daddy’s Got a Gun

11 Feb

And he knows how to use it.

Ok, ok, ok. Before I begin, I must make a few things clear.

  • I do not consider myself a perfect parent. I make mistakes. A lot. I also will be the first to admit I don’t know what I’m doing. Who in the world really “knows” how to be a parent anyway?
  • I am not anti-gun. If you want to own a gun, you own that gun. I may or may not own a gun. That’s for me and a would-be burglar or the end of the world zombie to find out. Whether I know how to use it or not, well, I may or may not have a gun.

Back to the dad and his gun. If you don’t know what I’m talking about I promise I won’t laugh at you for being out of the social media loop this past week. (I actually might be jealous of you because you haven’t been exposed to the excitement around the video. And now, I will ruin that for you.)

Basically, a teenage daughter vents on facebook about her parents and the chores she has to do using bad words and typical teen angst. She apparently has been punished for this before so the dad, understandably, has had it. He reads her facebook vent to the camera and then shoots her laptop eight times so that she will now have to earn back her privileges. To see the whole thing for yourself:


I am fine with the fact that he is upset and wants to punish her. I just feel like I’m in the minority of those who may not support the way he went about it – or their “way to go/great parenting” spirit. Again, I’m not targeting the gun – for me, it’s more about the destruction and the possible public embarrassment to his daughter that he created. Sure, he may have felt upset and embarrassed by her vent but he is the adult. How is what he did better than what she did? What example did he set? Have a problem? Destroy it. I’ve seen people comment that he should have donated the laptop. I agree. That shows respect and consideration of others. Seems like a good teaching lesson.

My other issue is it must be challenging to parent in today’s social media world. I am so grateful I didn’t have facebook when I was teen. The things I wrote in my diary were awful. I vented a lot. And now I have a wonderful relationship with my parents. If they acted like this father did should they happen to read my vents, I don’t think I would regret my writings, but resent my parents for crushing me like that. I was a teen. TEEN. Not an adult. There’s supposed to be a difference there, right?

My last concern with this whole thing is my conspiracy theory mind can’t help but think this dad is doing this all for publicity for his book and his company. (His facebook page is quite a popular place and it was really easy for me to find his book on Amazon.)

Yeah, I said it was my conspiracy theory mind.

I suppose I just needed to vent myself. Some of you may agree but I have a feeling many more of you will not – I just hope any of you who disagree keep my laptop out of your sights.

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All I Ask of You

9 Feb

I’m beginning to realize how difficult it must be to be committed to me. Besides my random and extreme mood swings, I expect Andrew to be an expert in a variety of fields and a problem solver on any given day. A sample of the questions (I’m hoping others have asked them too) I fire at him include:

How many more miles can I drive after my gas tank dings at me? Can I make it home? Are you sure?

Why did he do that? Who is that guy? Or other questions about movies and tv shows that we are both watching for the first time. His response is usually along the lines of, “Started watching this the same time you did.”

How big is the wall by the closet door in our hall downstairs? In inches?

What do you feel like eating for dinner tonight/this week? (This is often a bigger issue than it seems. I just can never decide and he doesn’t care what we eat.)

What’s Joey barking at?

What tax bracket are we in? Should we refinance? What’s our credit rating? What’s that mean? Can I buy a new table for the living room?

Are my tires low on air?

The toilet is doing that running while not being flushed thing. (Not really a question but it is implied he is being asked to do something.)

What was that noise?! Did you hear it? No? Can you check it out? (Usually asked once he is settled in bed ready for his slumber.)

Do you think Nate has a concussion? (Because suddenly Andrew is a doctor or nurse.)

Can you please pick up my birth control pills for me? (On the flip-side of that…) Can you pretty please pick up some tampons for me? Pleeeeaaaase?

What wine/beer do I like?

Who was the president before Lincoln? What is the capital of Alabama? How many senators are there in each state? How do you get the area of something? Will that stool hold you? Are you sure?

I think out of all the questions, me not taking his advice or the “are you sure ones” drive him the most bonkers. He especially loves when his sure-ness is justified. He brings me proof, “See? Here are the Christmas floor mats I told you would be in the tree box.” Me: “Where were they?” Andrew: “The. Tree. Box.”

Ok, ok, already.

Are you going to put them there again?

Thankful for Lady Gaga

24 Jan

She is nice to him and he bashfully describes her as pretty. She stole his heart on a day near Halloween when she walked in his class dressed up as a Kindergarten (G-rated) Lady Gaga.

Nate was so enamored with Little Gaga that he announced to the class during a Thanksgiving lesson that he is most thankful for her. (His teacher emailed me about the sweetness.)

Turns out, the feeling is mutual. Her mom tells me that she “just loves Nate” and that she recently put him as no. 89 in her “Favorite 100 Things” book because there are 89 different reasons she likes him. She also saves every drawing Nate gives her and has them hanging in her room. This one was the first:

image

Nate will reassure us that they are not boyfriend and girlfriend. “I’m too young for that,” he maturely states and then turns his head down to the side to hide his grin.

I smile too, remembering a note to her that said, “I love you because you are nice to me.” So pure. So important. Such a beautiful reason to love someone. I hope he always thinks about that when it comes to his future “real” girlfriends. Loving the inside as much as the Lady Gaga.

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