Every now and then, life happens in such a way that blatantly reminds me I’m not as smart as I like to think I am. For some reason, it can never be just one singular incident either. Ever notice that? It’s like there's a special Vault somewhere that holds My Biggest Stupid until it builds up to a point where it can longer be contained. If I let the door creak open just a little bit, the rest has to come tumbling down domino style until enough pressure has been released for the door to close again. Sometimes it can take a day, sometimes two, sometimes more. My daughter Piper, has learned to recognize these days and prefers not to stand too close. She's afraid the condition may be contagious. She's been keeping her distance lately.
Monday, July 21st, 2014
The Morning Smack-Down; when dressing, I’m a one sock, then the shoe, then the next sock and the next shoe person. Monday was no different. I followed routine. First sock, first shoe, reach for the other sock - - - where the hell is the other sock?? I had two, I know I did, they were a matching pair. I set it right there, right there on the counter where I always put it. Noooooo sock. WTF??!! I looked up, I looked down. I looked in things, under things, behind and beside things. Nooo freakin sock and I had to get to work. My rational self tried to save me, “just get another pair, for crying out loud and get on with it.” “NO!!! I want THAT sock damnit!” I was being confounded and befuddled by a sock, UNACCEPTABLE! I had reached that point where frustration turns into obsession. To move on would be admitting defeat – no pun intended. I was not ready to admit defeat – still no pun intended. The search ensued. Finally I had to give in or be late for work, FINE! I’ll get a new pair of frickin frackin #!@^%# bleeping socks!! I grumbled all the way to the dresser, SNATCHED a new PAIR, and growled all the way back to the bathroom. Took off my shoe, took off my sock, put on a sock from the new pair, put the shoe back on, lifted my left foot to sock it and, there, already ON my other foot was THE missing sock!!! Five full minutes people! Five full minutes I marched around growling and grumbling over a stupid sock that was already on my foot! And that old door on My Stupid Vault began to creak. I should’ve stayed home.
Afternoon Smack-Down. With A Splat; I babysat for Tad today, the three and a half year old I’ve been with for three years. His Mom bought NEW paints over the weekend. (Yippee!!! NEW PAINTS!!) Then she suggested we could take the easel outside instead of rolling out the long roll of paper across the deck like we usually do. Sure, ok. But wait, it was pretty windy outside, was this really the best idea? Sometimes I really struggle with not allowing excitement to override misgivings.
And creak, creeeaak, went the door on My Stupid Vault.
I hauled his easel outside, set it up on the deck, hauled out the paints and the big box of supplies; brushes, sponges, and plastic plates for palette’s. Tad is very helpful. Tad is very self-confident. His self-confidence surpasses his abilities. He is also smart enough to know that if he doesn’t ask permission, he won’t hear the word “No.” As I was unpacking supplies, he was unloading the new paint. Literally. Before I realized he'd done it, he’d opened all sixteen bottles, six of them glitter loaded, and emptied a large portion of each onto multiple clear plastic plates. He also didn’t recap any of the bottles. Paint bubbled and oozed down the sides of plastic bottles, pooled on the table, and was smeared all over his arms and clothing from where he’d wiped his hands. Deeeep breath, 'it’s all water soluble' became my mantra. Water, we were going to need water - and lots of paper towels. I ducked back into the house, grabbed water and towels and when I returned he was already brush in hand going at the blank paper with goopey globs of paint. Big sigh. Nothing to do but sit down, sit back and watch. Help if needed or invited.
Here’s the layout of the situation. The easel is in front, mid-deck. Tad is standing at the easel, I am sitting directly behind Tad with the supply table just inches to my left. He had easy access to everything he needed. After a few minutes of watching him go at the paper with the brush tight in his fist, bristle end coming out from the pinky side of his fist, you know, the way psychos hold knives in movies when they’re about to stab someone to death, I couldn’t resist the urge to teach the correct way. He handled the correction with appreciation and grace. Then the wind shifted. It shifted to come at us from the direction of the easel. Which wasn’t a problem initially. Tad was shorter than the easel so he never even knew. I was taller than both of them, it was hot outside so the breeze on my face was welcome.
Tad reached a point where I could tell he’d run out of ideas of his own but wasn’t ready to pack it up and stop. “Would you like me to teach you something really cool and really fun?” Well, who can resist that? “Yeah, what is it?” he was all eyes and excitement. “The Splatter Technique,” I told him.
And creak, creeeaak, went the door on My Stupid Vault.
I arranged new paper on the easel, took the brush, soaked up as much deep blue glitter paint as I could with the brush and BLAM, BLAM began flicking the brush at the paper. I flicked low because I could aim. Oh WOW! Droplets sprang from the brush and splattered on the paper in the most amazing array. Tad was fairly vibrating with “I wanna do it, I wanna do it!” So I handed him the brush. He loaded it with paint like he'd seen me do, then made the flicking motion he'd seen me do. Nothing happened. The paint was too thick for his level of flicking strength. “Hmm, I know,” I told him, “we’ll water down the paint so it will come off the brush easier.” I had him choose only three colors to work with this time. He chose and I added water. until I was certain the mix was thin enough for him to manage. He turned toward the easel, paint brush dripping from the overload he’d supplied it with, took a deep breath (remember, the wind is coming over the top of the easel right at me, which wouldn't have been a problem IF HE COULD AIM WORTH SHIT!), and flicked that damn brush with all his might! FLICK, FLICK, FLICK! The majority of it went flew over the top of the easel and WHOOSH SPLAT! WHOOSH SPLAT! WHOOSH SPLAT! Right in my friggin face and down my shirt!! He never even stopped to look back. He reloaded faster than I could move – you see I was a bit STUNNED – and reached back clear to Kansas to power his thrust, and FLICK, FLICK, FLICK!! At that moment I was at odds about which was more dangerous, his wind-up with a poke to the eye, or the backsplash from the release! I reached out and grabbed his arm mid-fourth-flick. He turned around and looked at me and with all the innocence only a three year old can possess, he said, “Why Darcy, you have paint on you.” Yeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssss . . . . . . . . . . .!*^&#% . . . . . . . @!^&#^%*. . . . . . I stood up, “If you want to continue this, after I’ve cleaned myself up, we are going to work on your AIM!” And I’m standing to the side!! He waited while I got cleaned up and then we worked on his aim. I did not sit behind him. The rest of that painting experience turned out fine. He even finished with a piece he really liked.
You’d think that was the end of mishaps right?
The Frosting On The Cake – or in this case GoGurt; In case you don’t know what GoGurt is, it’s yogurt packaged for healthy snacking on the go. It comes in a long, narrow, plastic tube or pouch. Like good old fashioned Otter Pops. When you’re out and about and need a protein snack, you grab one of these babies, rip from the score on the top end and suck it dry. It’s all the rage of young mother’s and highly active persons these days. I know about these. Not because I’ve consumed them myself, but because I babysit children whose mothers are concerned with providing a better nutritious choice for their children. Having dealt them out before, I know there is always a messy little splurt of yogurt if you rip the package. That’s why I began using scissors to open the suckers.
So today, late this afternoon . . . . . . . . 85 degrees outside, after leaving Tad’s place. They don’t have air conditioning so I was already hot, sweaty and uncomfortable, not to mention struggling with heat related menopause issues. Got the picture? I HAD to make a stop at Target before I could go home to find pants for the following day. Target, in cooperation with what is called a “Flash Day” here in California (community participation in energy conservation), has their storewide AC set to 79 degrees. How bad do I need these pants? Pretty damn bad. The place I’m babysitting tomorrow doesn’t have AC either and it’s supposed to be even hotter. Watching these guys in this heat in jeans is killing me! So I have to just deal with the heat a little longer until I find what I need, right?
Clothes shopping is a nightmare for me. I HATE it! I’d wandered the entire clothing section, had about a hundred different things to try on and Target fitting rooms have a six item limit. Not to mention less air flow than anywhere else in the store. Seven different trips into the fitting room, six items each time. You bend over, take off your shoes, take off your pants, try on a new pair and do the process over again and again and again. All this extra physical exertion had pushed me over the heat-o-meter edge. Every time I bent over, sweat dripped off my nose. By the second trip into the black hole, I knew I was getting dehydrated. I began fantasizing about GoGurts. This was a Super Target. They had groceries. I needed cool, sweet, refreshing deliciousness to for the drive home.
I finally found some pants that worked, got the GoGurts and headed for the register. Should probably grab a bottle of water too I thought to myself. Nah. I've these cold, creamy packets of yogurt delight. And on past the water I marched. Paid for my purchases, got everything loaded into the back seat of my car, got situated behind the wheel, no scissors in the car so I carefully tore the top of a strawberry GoGurt. There was a tiny package splurt but I was too hot to care.
I eased into traffic and slurped in my first mouthful. Ahhhhhhhh . . . . . . delicicious! Sooooooo awesome, soooooo wonderful this little package of GoGurt. I started feeling pretty smart. Slurped in my second mouthful, even better! I started feeling really darn smart. I began to forgive the earlier annoyances of the day. Wait, uh-oh, half the yogurt is gone and what remains is in the bottom half of the tube, eight inches down. I realized the only way to get the rest out would be to squeeze from the bottom and pushing the remaining yogurt all the way to the top like a tube of toothpaste. That would require two hands. I am driving. I figured it was going to be alright because when I had to stop for the next red light, I’d just squeeze it up and get all the rest. And here’s the next light and it just turned red. So I stop. Finally the cards are stacking in my favor! I took my hands off the wheel, held the packet at the bottom with my left hand, squeezed the yogurt up far enough to make room for my other fingers, and with my right thumb and side of right forefinger I started the push. Nice and slow. Mouth open and I’m ready for it. About four inches up, the outer package is slicker than snot with condensation and my fingers slipped - SlllllooooOOOPPP KAPOW!!!! Pink sticky yogurt blasted like mashed potatoes out of a potato rocket all over the inside of my car!! And me!! Uh, uh . . . . . . I was dumbfounded! It had happened so fast I was stunned! Drip, drip, drip! Everywhere I looked was splashed with giant gobs of pink drippy goo. Yogurt dripped from the ceiling onto my body, slid down and dripped off the rear view mirror, windshield and steering wheel. It was sliding down the dash, oozing into the AC vents and all the little cracks and crevices. It dripped from my cheek and my hair. It was all over the passenger seat, my purse and my bag! It was dripping off the glove compartment onto the aluminum windshield cover. Damn shit damn!!!!! And then the light turned green.
I guess it took me a second too long to move because the guy behind me honked. I crossed the intersection and pulled into a parking lot. What’s the first thing you do when you have something yummy you don’t want to waste fall on your arm? Ten second rule right? Knee jerk reaction – you lick it off right? Well I’d forgotten I put fresh sunscreen on my arms before I left Tad’s house. In case you’re ever tempted to find out what strawberry yogurt and fresh sunscreen mixed together taste like, I’ll save you the trouble. Combined, they taste like bug repellent. No water in the car to clean up with or drink. Remember, I thought about it at Target but talked myself out of it. Smearing the goo around with non-absorbent McDonalds napkins was the best I could do for a semi-clean-up till I got home. I walked in the door, smeared yogurt on top of paint splatters from my head to my knees, hair totally gunked out, purse and bags at arms length, a tale of woe and angst carved into my face. Piper took one look at me and took several steps back, "Let me know when it passes and let me know if you want to talk." I shuffled past her without a word.
No water?! Creak, creeeaaakk, creaaaaaaaaaaaak went that door to My Stupid Vault and BANG right upside the head! The biggest trouble with the Vault, is that once the door is open all the way, Stupid shit leaks out for days. Don't believe me?
Day TWO of the leakage was yesterday - yesterdays blog post, The Follies Derriere! Day THREE was today. I don't want to talk about it right now. I'm hiding in my room again and the door isn't closed yet.
Monday, July 21st, 2014
The Morning Smack-Down; when dressing, I’m a one sock, then the shoe, then the next sock and the next shoe person. Monday was no different. I followed routine. First sock, first shoe, reach for the other sock - - - where the hell is the other sock?? I had two, I know I did, they were a matching pair. I set it right there, right there on the counter where I always put it. Noooooo sock. WTF??!! I looked up, I looked down. I looked in things, under things, behind and beside things. Nooo freakin sock and I had to get to work. My rational self tried to save me, “just get another pair, for crying out loud and get on with it.” “NO!!! I want THAT sock damnit!” I was being confounded and befuddled by a sock, UNACCEPTABLE! I had reached that point where frustration turns into obsession. To move on would be admitting defeat – no pun intended. I was not ready to admit defeat – still no pun intended. The search ensued. Finally I had to give in or be late for work, FINE! I’ll get a new pair of frickin frackin #!@^%# bleeping socks!! I grumbled all the way to the dresser, SNATCHED a new PAIR, and growled all the way back to the bathroom. Took off my shoe, took off my sock, put on a sock from the new pair, put the shoe back on, lifted my left foot to sock it and, there, already ON my other foot was THE missing sock!!! Five full minutes people! Five full minutes I marched around growling and grumbling over a stupid sock that was already on my foot! And that old door on My Stupid Vault began to creak. I should’ve stayed home.
Afternoon Smack-Down. With A Splat; I babysat for Tad today, the three and a half year old I’ve been with for three years. His Mom bought NEW paints over the weekend. (Yippee!!! NEW PAINTS!!) Then she suggested we could take the easel outside instead of rolling out the long roll of paper across the deck like we usually do. Sure, ok. But wait, it was pretty windy outside, was this really the best idea? Sometimes I really struggle with not allowing excitement to override misgivings.
And creak, creeeaak, went the door on My Stupid Vault.
I hauled his easel outside, set it up on the deck, hauled out the paints and the big box of supplies; brushes, sponges, and plastic plates for palette’s. Tad is very helpful. Tad is very self-confident. His self-confidence surpasses his abilities. He is also smart enough to know that if he doesn’t ask permission, he won’t hear the word “No.” As I was unpacking supplies, he was unloading the new paint. Literally. Before I realized he'd done it, he’d opened all sixteen bottles, six of them glitter loaded, and emptied a large portion of each onto multiple clear plastic plates. He also didn’t recap any of the bottles. Paint bubbled and oozed down the sides of plastic bottles, pooled on the table, and was smeared all over his arms and clothing from where he’d wiped his hands. Deeeep breath, 'it’s all water soluble' became my mantra. Water, we were going to need water - and lots of paper towels. I ducked back into the house, grabbed water and towels and when I returned he was already brush in hand going at the blank paper with goopey globs of paint. Big sigh. Nothing to do but sit down, sit back and watch. Help if needed or invited.
Here’s the layout of the situation. The easel is in front, mid-deck. Tad is standing at the easel, I am sitting directly behind Tad with the supply table just inches to my left. He had easy access to everything he needed. After a few minutes of watching him go at the paper with the brush tight in his fist, bristle end coming out from the pinky side of his fist, you know, the way psychos hold knives in movies when they’re about to stab someone to death, I couldn’t resist the urge to teach the correct way. He handled the correction with appreciation and grace. Then the wind shifted. It shifted to come at us from the direction of the easel. Which wasn’t a problem initially. Tad was shorter than the easel so he never even knew. I was taller than both of them, it was hot outside so the breeze on my face was welcome.
Tad reached a point where I could tell he’d run out of ideas of his own but wasn’t ready to pack it up and stop. “Would you like me to teach you something really cool and really fun?” Well, who can resist that? “Yeah, what is it?” he was all eyes and excitement. “The Splatter Technique,” I told him.
And creak, creeeaak, went the door on My Stupid Vault.
I arranged new paper on the easel, took the brush, soaked up as much deep blue glitter paint as I could with the brush and BLAM, BLAM began flicking the brush at the paper. I flicked low because I could aim. Oh WOW! Droplets sprang from the brush and splattered on the paper in the most amazing array. Tad was fairly vibrating with “I wanna do it, I wanna do it!” So I handed him the brush. He loaded it with paint like he'd seen me do, then made the flicking motion he'd seen me do. Nothing happened. The paint was too thick for his level of flicking strength. “Hmm, I know,” I told him, “we’ll water down the paint so it will come off the brush easier.” I had him choose only three colors to work with this time. He chose and I added water. until I was certain the mix was thin enough for him to manage. He turned toward the easel, paint brush dripping from the overload he’d supplied it with, took a deep breath (remember, the wind is coming over the top of the easel right at me, which wouldn't have been a problem IF HE COULD AIM WORTH SHIT!), and flicked that damn brush with all his might! FLICK, FLICK, FLICK! The majority of it went flew over the top of the easel and WHOOSH SPLAT! WHOOSH SPLAT! WHOOSH SPLAT! Right in my friggin face and down my shirt!! He never even stopped to look back. He reloaded faster than I could move – you see I was a bit STUNNED – and reached back clear to Kansas to power his thrust, and FLICK, FLICK, FLICK!! At that moment I was at odds about which was more dangerous, his wind-up with a poke to the eye, or the backsplash from the release! I reached out and grabbed his arm mid-fourth-flick. He turned around and looked at me and with all the innocence only a three year old can possess, he said, “Why Darcy, you have paint on you.” Yeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssss . . . . . . . . . . .!*^&#% . . . . . . . @!^&#^%*. . . . . . I stood up, “If you want to continue this, after I’ve cleaned myself up, we are going to work on your AIM!” And I’m standing to the side!! He waited while I got cleaned up and then we worked on his aim. I did not sit behind him. The rest of that painting experience turned out fine. He even finished with a piece he really liked.
You’d think that was the end of mishaps right?
The Frosting On The Cake – or in this case GoGurt; In case you don’t know what GoGurt is, it’s yogurt packaged for healthy snacking on the go. It comes in a long, narrow, plastic tube or pouch. Like good old fashioned Otter Pops. When you’re out and about and need a protein snack, you grab one of these babies, rip from the score on the top end and suck it dry. It’s all the rage of young mother’s and highly active persons these days. I know about these. Not because I’ve consumed them myself, but because I babysit children whose mothers are concerned with providing a better nutritious choice for their children. Having dealt them out before, I know there is always a messy little splurt of yogurt if you rip the package. That’s why I began using scissors to open the suckers.
So today, late this afternoon . . . . . . . . 85 degrees outside, after leaving Tad’s place. They don’t have air conditioning so I was already hot, sweaty and uncomfortable, not to mention struggling with heat related menopause issues. Got the picture? I HAD to make a stop at Target before I could go home to find pants for the following day. Target, in cooperation with what is called a “Flash Day” here in California (community participation in energy conservation), has their storewide AC set to 79 degrees. How bad do I need these pants? Pretty damn bad. The place I’m babysitting tomorrow doesn’t have AC either and it’s supposed to be even hotter. Watching these guys in this heat in jeans is killing me! So I have to just deal with the heat a little longer until I find what I need, right?
Clothes shopping is a nightmare for me. I HATE it! I’d wandered the entire clothing section, had about a hundred different things to try on and Target fitting rooms have a six item limit. Not to mention less air flow than anywhere else in the store. Seven different trips into the fitting room, six items each time. You bend over, take off your shoes, take off your pants, try on a new pair and do the process over again and again and again. All this extra physical exertion had pushed me over the heat-o-meter edge. Every time I bent over, sweat dripped off my nose. By the second trip into the black hole, I knew I was getting dehydrated. I began fantasizing about GoGurts. This was a Super Target. They had groceries. I needed cool, sweet, refreshing deliciousness to for the drive home.
I finally found some pants that worked, got the GoGurts and headed for the register. Should probably grab a bottle of water too I thought to myself. Nah. I've these cold, creamy packets of yogurt delight. And on past the water I marched. Paid for my purchases, got everything loaded into the back seat of my car, got situated behind the wheel, no scissors in the car so I carefully tore the top of a strawberry GoGurt. There was a tiny package splurt but I was too hot to care.
I eased into traffic and slurped in my first mouthful. Ahhhhhhhh . . . . . . delicicious! Sooooooo awesome, soooooo wonderful this little package of GoGurt. I started feeling pretty smart. Slurped in my second mouthful, even better! I started feeling really darn smart. I began to forgive the earlier annoyances of the day. Wait, uh-oh, half the yogurt is gone and what remains is in the bottom half of the tube, eight inches down. I realized the only way to get the rest out would be to squeeze from the bottom and pushing the remaining yogurt all the way to the top like a tube of toothpaste. That would require two hands. I am driving. I figured it was going to be alright because when I had to stop for the next red light, I’d just squeeze it up and get all the rest. And here’s the next light and it just turned red. So I stop. Finally the cards are stacking in my favor! I took my hands off the wheel, held the packet at the bottom with my left hand, squeezed the yogurt up far enough to make room for my other fingers, and with my right thumb and side of right forefinger I started the push. Nice and slow. Mouth open and I’m ready for it. About four inches up, the outer package is slicker than snot with condensation and my fingers slipped - SlllllooooOOOPPP KAPOW!!!! Pink sticky yogurt blasted like mashed potatoes out of a potato rocket all over the inside of my car!! And me!! Uh, uh . . . . . . I was dumbfounded! It had happened so fast I was stunned! Drip, drip, drip! Everywhere I looked was splashed with giant gobs of pink drippy goo. Yogurt dripped from the ceiling onto my body, slid down and dripped off the rear view mirror, windshield and steering wheel. It was sliding down the dash, oozing into the AC vents and all the little cracks and crevices. It dripped from my cheek and my hair. It was all over the passenger seat, my purse and my bag! It was dripping off the glove compartment onto the aluminum windshield cover. Damn shit damn!!!!! And then the light turned green.
I guess it took me a second too long to move because the guy behind me honked. I crossed the intersection and pulled into a parking lot. What’s the first thing you do when you have something yummy you don’t want to waste fall on your arm? Ten second rule right? Knee jerk reaction – you lick it off right? Well I’d forgotten I put fresh sunscreen on my arms before I left Tad’s house. In case you’re ever tempted to find out what strawberry yogurt and fresh sunscreen mixed together taste like, I’ll save you the trouble. Combined, they taste like bug repellent. No water in the car to clean up with or drink. Remember, I thought about it at Target but talked myself out of it. Smearing the goo around with non-absorbent McDonalds napkins was the best I could do for a semi-clean-up till I got home. I walked in the door, smeared yogurt on top of paint splatters from my head to my knees, hair totally gunked out, purse and bags at arms length, a tale of woe and angst carved into my face. Piper took one look at me and took several steps back, "Let me know when it passes and let me know if you want to talk." I shuffled past her without a word.
No water?! Creak, creeeaaakk, creaaaaaaaaaaaak went that door to My Stupid Vault and BANG right upside the head! The biggest trouble with the Vault, is that once the door is open all the way, Stupid shit leaks out for days. Don't believe me?
Day TWO of the leakage was yesterday - yesterdays blog post, The Follies Derriere! Day THREE was today. I don't want to talk about it right now. I'm hiding in my room again and the door isn't closed yet.