Category: Memoirs

Shattered Dreams Shattered Urinal

Published on by cmglife

Have you ever driven with a teenager? It is a harrowing experience. My son is sixteen and has been driving for about three months. What I don’t quite understand is when I am in the car with him he has no desire to impress me with his honed driving skills, just the opposite. He seems hell bent on showing me just how fast he can take corners, how close he can get to the car ahead of him by slamming on the breaks at just the last moment while changing the songs on his iPod. Needless to say, I drove back home on that trip.

My son lost the first game of the state finals that took place during basically a blizzard. My husband, two daughters, granddaughter and I stuck it out during the rain and wind that turned to snow. It was a heartbreaking loss that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. It was mostly because the boys had endured the atrocious weather conditions for 90 minutes in shorts, played so well, and then at the last ten seconds the other team scored! That is not the point of my story though. After the game, with testosterone and adrenaline pulsing through his system, Tristan jumped in his pickup and tore out of the parking lot. In this process he cut me off! Yes, that’s right, his own mother!

A couple of days later, John asked Tristan to pick up a urinal from the local hardware store. No, this is not a normal request (my husband is building a shop). He instructed Tristan to put the urinal in the back of the pickup, but make sure it is on something so it’s not rolling around the back of the truck bed. This is good advice for the way Tristan drives and it would have been even better had he heard anything John had said. Tristan arrived home with the thing shattered in the back of the bed of the truck. I’m sure he was employing his usual driving techniques and no amount of bubble wrap would have saved it.

So, now he owes for a $50 shattered urinal and is still licking his wounds over his shattered dream of winning the state title. Being a teenager is hard.

Broken Record

Published on by cmglife

I’m proud to announce that an old record was broken tonight! My old record was getting two children and I ready for work and school from bed to out the door  in 30 minutes flat. That includes hair straightening and breakfast!

This is my new record:

4:15   Left for the Physical Therapist appointment scheduled for 4:30.

4:45   Therapist was late. I told him Allison has to be at piano lessons at 5:30.

“How far is it?” he asks.

“Five minutes”, I reply.

“I’ll get you there,” he reassures me confidently.

“Maybe too confidently?” I think nervously.

The therapist called the aide in and they began to “tag team” each shoulder. Handing me some green lens “laser” glasses, the aide started the laser treatment on one shoulder while the therapist began some sort of “gwashing” (phonetically spelled) on the other shoulder. Then they switched.

After ten minutes of that, they began the “electrode” therapy. I wish I could give you the actual medical terminology of these treatments, but would you really care anyway?

5:20   Their bell dinged, time enough to get my coat on and drive across the parking lot to the piano lessons.

5:25   Dropped Allison off at piano lessons.

5:26   Drove to Hobby Lobby to get a poster board for Allison’s science project. Ran into a woman I know from work at the door of the store. I actually parked right next to her in the parking lot before she got out. I didn’t know there was anyone in the car and now I think I might have pissed her off because I drove in kind of fast. I was, as you know, trying to break a speed record.

In the store we exchanged pleasantries:

“Hi, Maggie, how’s it going”? I say wondering if she knew it was me who almost took her car door off.

“Just fine,” she says. Yes, I think she knew it was me.

“This is where all the cool people hang out,” I say pleasantly, feeling her coolness and realizing that was a really lame thing to say.

5:35 Drove to the grocery store and checked my watch, 25 minutes left.  I debated with myself and decided to try it. I parked as close as I could to the entrance and collected a shopping cart. I bought juice, bread, cereal, applesauce, yogurt and two packets of gold fish crackers (BOGO). No stories there, it went off without a hitch.

5:55   I arrive back at the piano lessons!

That, my friend, is a new record!

Shelly T.

Published on by cmglife

I have a friend at work that is trying to train (is that the right word?) me on how to be a better mother to my teenage son. I have never asked her in any way or form for this help nor do I think I need it. But, she has taken me under her wing and I try to pay attention. Her son is brilliant, good looking, tall, athletic and a really nice guy. We try not to roll our eyes as we hear yet another story of his amazing bigger than life accomplishments.

I don’t know how she got the impression that my role in Tristan’s life was less than adequate. It may have started with my ADD. Yes,I have ADD ( tested and everything). Now because of that I have a very hard time staying focused for long periods of time, oh who am I fooling, for ANY period of time.

My friend’s concern started at the beginning of the school year when she asked me which classes Tristan had signed up for.

“AP Chemistry,” I would say not very confidently (you know that little “up speak” we do with the last syllable). I had been told, read his schedule, etc., but was now trying desperately to remember another class. “Spanish, uh, hmm”.

She was on to a new question, “Oh, Spanish II or III?”.

“Three,” I say enthusiastically, feeling the pressure may be off. I’m not really sure if it Spanish III, but I have to prove that I am interested in my son’s education. Then I realize she may have a way of checking on this information, she is a former Assistant Principal of the high school Tristan attends. Maybe she already knows very well what he has and she’s just screwing with me.

“Who does he have?” she asks interested. And the thing is I know she is being sincere. She doesn’t see me as the bug under the microscope that I feel like.

“I would have to check his schedule, I can’t remember,” I mutter uncomfortably. I actually went so far as to print out his schedule and keep it on my desk in case she asked again, which she didn’t.

Every morning she checks in with me and asks me if I’ve checked the paper to see if Tristan has been mentioned in the sports section. He’s in soccer and they are having a really good season.

“ You’ve got to start a scrapbook. I did with Brett.”

A scrapbook? A scrapbook? I have photos from 1998 still sitting waiting to be put into an album. My granddaughter will be 3 years old before I hang her 3 month old photos and she wants me to start a scrapbook? I said she was a friend, I never said we were close.

“I don’t get the paper,” I say apologetically.

“Oh, you’ll have to get the paper, he’ll be in it all the time and you’ll want to cut out the articles for his scrapbook!”

My compliance in this matter has become a slippery slope.

The next day she brought me a “One Month Free” coupon for the Herald.

Gnat in a Glass

Published on by cmglife5 Comments

I am not a violent person as a rule, unless there is a house fly or a fruit fly around. Tonight I am trying to write and having a glass of wine. For some reason the one fruit fly in the house has supersonic scent receptors (making all these scientific terms up) and is buzzing around my head in front of the laptop screen. It’s driving me crazy, I cannot relax. The thing is obviously trying to take a nose dive into my wine. I am trying to keep track of it. Luckily I type better without looking at the key board or the screen. I wonder why that is?  I always type better when I’m talking on the phone too.

Back to the fruit fly….I keep trying to kill it by clapping my hands around it, but it is too small and it keeps getting pushed out on the air stream created by me.

The other day I was trying to take a short nap after work. I lay straight on my back with the tv off and the door to my bedroom open. This way when I fall asleep, a child, a dog or a phone call will inevitably wake me up after 15 min or so. If I don’t do this I will sleep for an hour and then berate myself on how much time I’ve wasted.

This particular afternoon I was lying there, dead tired, when a fly came into the room. Not just your run of the mill house fly, but one of those huge (Blue Bottle?) slow, noisy flies. It would not stop and I couldn’t help follow it with my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t have to get up and find the flyswatter. It did leave at one point, but came back. I finally had to go after it and I did, with a vengeance. Actually enjoying the final kill against the window!

I was trying to get all philosophical about the aggression and the fly and why it is easy to kill a fly, but I am too old and busy for that! Hate to say it, but “been there done that”!

You know that fruit flies have a 5 day lifespan; well I think it has died. Or it’s made its way into my glass and I’ve swallowed it without knowing, either way, it got what it deserved!

Wardrobe Malfunctions

Published on by cmglife

I’ve decided I’m going to just throw this shirt away. It’s been slipping over to one side or the other all day. I went into the bathroom and saw that my bra strap was exposed. How long has it been that way? My mind searches the last few encounters…who have I interacted with my undergarments showing?

Yeah, I’m throwing it away as soon as I get home! I’m not going to wash it, put it in the back of the closet until a few months go by. One morning on a desperate “nothing to wear day” I pull it out not remembering why I put it back there in the first place.

I’m going to throw it away tonight so I don’t innocently wear it and then look down and see my bra strap again. Then what am I to do? I have to spend the whole day adjusting and pulling the bra strap back all while trying to look perfectly normal.

I should go through my closet at the same time and throw out those pants that the button has been missing for a year! Sew it back on you say? Maybe in a former life! I will throw out that shirt that is just a smidge too low in the front and therefore having to hike it up every two minutes! I’m going to finally take out the staples of the hem of my favorite pants and replace it with two sided tape!

Yes, I’m feeling liberated already!

My cry is “NO MORE WARDROBE MALFUNCTIONS”!

Dog Stories

Published on by cmglife

I had two heart stopping moments yesterday, both with dogs.

My little dog, Henry, is a white miniature poodle. He is a lovely little dog with a ready to play attitude. Unfortunately for us he has psychotic breaks when it comes to the mailman, the UPS man or the FedEx truck. One time he ran out the door and tried to get into the UPS truck! If he wasn’t so short he would’ve done it too! We almost had a block on our house from the post office because he ran out the front door and chased the mailman! I had to go down to the post office and plead my case to the supervisor.

What happened today relates to his severe dislike of delivery people. I just came home from work to eat lunch. I was in the kitchen preparing it when I heard some sort of commotion in the back yard, all sorts of barking and a voice. My heart started pounding! I immediately thought someone (Tristan) had left the back gate open! The mailman had come early and Henry was chewing his leg to the bone!

I dropped my lunchl and ran out through the front door to the gate at top speed! The barking and yelling had stopped as soon as I got there and out trotted Henry with a milk bone sticking out of his mouth! The woman was a meter reader; she didn’t seem bothered at all! I, however, had to go in and have a Margarita with my Lean Cuisine!

My second heart attack of the day came later when I went back to work after lunch. I work in the front office of a school. Once a month or so the drug dogs come to the school to do a sweep of the lockers, etc.  They never find anything, thank goodness, but it is great preventative step.

The dog and her handler came into the office to have an invoice signed and give us the thumbs up. There is a tall counter that runs almost the length of the room and my desk sits behind it. The handler and the dog were at the counter. Out of the blue,  the massive beast came from around the counter and lunged at my desk. She was so fast I thought she was going over the desk and I instinctively raised my arms to shield my face. The other two people and the handler also had the same idea because everyone gasped! The handler quickly got the leash and the dog under control. She explained that the dog smelled the alcohol in my hand sanitizer. Now, I try to prepare for everything, but I did not see that coming!

In conclusion, I need another Margarita!

Someone, please slap me!

Published on by cmglife4 Comments

I just needed to write about how I’m feeling right now.  I had to discipline my son because he not doing well in Chemistry.  What a wicked mother! Do you think so?  I hope not. His discipline is to stay home this weekend and study, catch up on sleep, clean his room etc.  Ever since he got his license he is never home.   This summer he started out a quiet kid with a couple of friends, now he has more than I can keep up with. He’s out every weekend with them.  He plays sports so he is at practice everyday and then homework is an afterthought.  He is a junior, this is no time to be slacking off.

The problem with discipline and my children is that it doesn’t agree with me.  My approach is pretty gentle, but my husband, is a knee jerk kind of disciplinarian.  I suppose our kids have needed us to temper each other.  I hope it’s worked out that way anyway.

So now, Tristan is feeling sorry for himself.  He started out yelling at me, his dad is out of town, or he wouldn’t have dared.  He stomped off swearing.  I yell after him, “If I hear you swearing again…..” What kind of a threat is that?  He was already in the basement.  Pathetic!

So after he had calmed down a bit he was back upstairs with tears in his eyes and a hitch in his voice as he pointed out how much he had already studied tonight.  Talk about pulling out my heart  through my chest!  I am always a sucker for men crying, but my own son, who just looks like a man is more than I can stand.

I did not give in.  I feel like crap.  I mean I really do.  I never want to see my children suffering at all, but when it is at my hands it feels much worse.  This all leads back to my overdeveloped sense of empathy for everyone.  I need to work  on it.  It might be too late at this point.  He is only grounded for god’s sake.  Someone, please slap me!

Exotic Currency

Published on by cmglife3 Comments

Today I was in the store buying a pair of sunglasses that would fit over my glasses. I know they make prescription sunglasses, but I am too cheap to buy them and I would probably lose them anyway. I thought this was a great compromise. My children are so embarrassed by me wearing my regular sunglasses over my glasses. They make me look I’m wearing those old fashioned mad scientist’s goggles.

Anyway, I counted out cash, 29 dollars, and handed it over to the cashier. She looked at me as if I’d just given her a handful of monopoly money.

“Oh,” she said,” I don’t usually take cash.” She counted the exotic currency while I was busy shoving receipts and stuff back into my wallet that had been freed when I took out the cash.

“Are you going to pay with some cash and some on your card?” she looked confused holding the money up.

Then it was my turn to look confused.

“There’s only nine dollars here,” the poor thing says.

“Oh,” I say, “I must’ve put the twenty back with the receipts!” And I gave her the twenty.

Then, trying to be helpful, she asks, “Do you have 16 cents, so you don’t have to break a dollar?”

Why couldn’t she just have left well enough alone?

“I think so,” I say and start digging in my coin purse, being careful not to give her the stray hair that is at the bottom. I put the 16 cents on the counter and kind of edge it over to her.

She begins to count it, picking up one very shiny coin to examine.

“This is an interesting one, ” she says and holds it up for inspection.

I’m thinking this girl has got to be kidding! It’s a *!?* penny for god’s sake! Then I realize what she’s got.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that is probably an English penny,” and I go into to a rambling explanation as to why I have an English penny in my coin purse, “I was in England in June and I haven’t gotten around to giving my coins to my dad.”

The question begs to be asked. Why do I still have those coins in my purse? Why am I carrying them with American coins? This has been an accident waiting to happen all along.

 

How Vain Can I Get?

Published on by cmglife

About 5 months ago my first granddaughter was born. It was out of state so I was staying at my daughter’s house.

Emily and Paul left for the hospital.  After a couple of hours Paul called from the hospital to tell me that Emily was in labor and it was time to come down. I had just gotten out of the shower and was just about to blow dry my hair. The dryer broke. Luckily I did finish my bangs first. When my hair air dries it becomes curly in some spots, wavy in spots and straight in yet some more places. I look like I’ve dried it by sticking my head out of a moving car. Oh, well, I thought this isn’t about my hair it’s about the birth of my granddaughter, see how selfless I really am?

We arrived and it was just as Paul had said, Emily was in labor, but only just beginning. She was still lucid and just sitting up. So I mentioned my hair dryer and she casually suggested I use her dryer which was in the bag she had brought for the hospital. At first I resisted because, I mean how vain can you be? Daughter in labor, mother blow drying her hair straight in the bathroom? But I did it anyway, I am ashamed to admit. It didn’t seem so appalling at the time, but in retrospect I really should have refused.

Word to the Wise

Published on by cmglife

Never buy and download songs to your iPod after you’ve had a glass of wine (or maybe two, who’s counting). Especially when your 16 year old son says,” Hey, Mom, I’ve got some songs you’d like!”

I’m cleaning today and listening to my iPod as I always do. To my dismay “Hit and Run”  comes on (and many more follow). It’s a song described by my son as “pop punk”. Oh the shame.