Monthly Archives: September 2012

I was so tired tonight.  I had just finished a late-night grocery shopping trip, and then went to fill my gas tank up at the station across the street.

But because God has a sense of humor, he made sure that all the pumps on the side of my car’s gas tank were taken.  Like I said, I was tired.  So instead of waiting for one to open, I pulled forward and began to back up to an open pump.

On my first attempt, the Equinox’s back-up camera began loudly beeping “AH! No!  Danger! Danger!” so I stopped. Berated myself.  Pulled Forward.  Tried again.  I got the warning beeping again.

This quick gas stop was turning into effort, damn it.

Of course, by now other pumps on my side were open, but by golly I was on a mission and I was not going to drive to some other pump.  I was not giving up.

Angling my car again, this time with the precision of a German Auto Industry Robot, I slowly…ever…so….slowly…crept back to the perfect spot.  I had aligned my gas tank exactly across from the pump handle.  The curb was exactly 12 inches away from the pump.  I had finally arrived.

And the angels sang!

….But I couldn’t get out of my car.

There were two other cars, with two male drivers out pumping their gas, who had been watching the whole show.  And I could see them snickering.  They were so holier than thou with their parking superiority.  I felt so ashamed…..How could I show my face?

Well, I couldn’t.  I was so tired, I just waited for them to finish and move on.  I even pretended I was doing something of extreme importance with my purse, all the while watching them through the corner of my eye.

Eventually they left and I was alone at the gas station.  And as I leaned against my car, pumping my own tank full of liquid gold, another car pulled up.  It was a young lady who pulled in a little too far from the pump.   She had to stretch the hose and nozzle pretty far and it barely reached her car.

Embarrassed, she looked apologetically at me.  I gave her a reassuring wink and a nod.

We, the spatially challenged, have to stick together, after all.

I’ve always been teased about my bladder.  It’s about the size of a walnut, based on the frequency and outflow of my tinkle trips.

“WHY!?” You cry.  “WHY, for the Love of All that is Good and Holy do you feel the need to share this with us?”

Well, other than the fact that I believe in absolute transparency in any friendship, and you are no exception, I’ve got a funny story related to peeps.

Well, it’s not that funny.  But it could be, if you are slightly skewed the way I am.

And by slightly, I mean entirely.

Our dear friend, firefighter, and fellow paramedic, Cupcake, joined us for breakfast one morning this week at a local restaurant called The Star Diner.  It’s an unobtrusive little place I’ve been going to since my babies were growing in my belly.  You could even say the diner’s Greek Salads, for I craved them often and in great volume when I was pregnant, were the building blocks that make up Varmint and Critter.  I’m surprised my babies didn’t come out smelling like Feta Cheese.  Though, in all honesty, they may have, but I was too busy to notice during the miraculous, but highly disgusting birthing process.

What the HECK was I talking about?

Right. Cupcake and Peeps.

So we’re having breakfast, and in the course of that meal, Cupcake downs not one, not two, not three, not four, but 5 large glasses of iced tea….and get this….without peeing! Not even once!

I watched in amazement as he drank the fifth one.  Never in my life have I had that kind of bladder volume (or control!).  It’s like he’s a fluid holding Machine.   Filled with incredulity and no small amount of awe, I watched as he casually poured more liquid into his body.  I have to believe that ginormous bladder has served him well on more than one fire call.

Or Bar Hop.

We don’t know what made him hesitate to go relieve himself during the meal.  Some people believe in a phenomenon called ‘Breaking the Seal,’ where if you pee once, you end up peeing over and over and over again in a short amount of time.  I don’t believe it’s been medically proven, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before Johns Hopkins Research picks it up.

I often ask my kids and their friends if they could have one super power, what would it be? I don’t need to ask Cupcake; he’s already got an honest to goodness superpower.  We could call him The Human Keg.  The Pee-in-ator.  Bolus Boy.

But he’s already known as ‘Cupcake’. 

And that’s another story altogether.

My Captain turned 47 today.

Was that a secret?  Did he not want me to share that?  I wonder if men are like women, trying to ignore the aging process?

Welp, too late.  Cat’s out of the bag.  You have to expect that when you marry an open book like me.  But I’m no short story, I’m like a big honking tome of War and Peace, gaping open in a shop window on a crazy busy street, in the spotlight, under a microscope.  And maybe under a disco ball.  With a neon sign flashing.

That’s what he married.

Do you pity him?  Don’t.  I’m a colorful book, entertaining to read.  So he’s got that going for him.

He was working at the firestation for 24 hours today (48 straight, if he gets hired on overtime tomorrow) and so I called his shift….Joe…we love Joe…a few days ahead and said, “Let’s do something!”

So Joe and Brett and Tom and the shift put together a wonderful dinner with cake and fun and love, and opened their table up to me and the kids as well.

It’s no small thing to be invited into the inner sanction of a fireshift.  They are tight.  They have a deep knowledge and trust of each other born of getting through countless high stress, life-or-death situations together.  And if you aren’t with them for all of that, well, you tend to remain on the outside.

I might have a slight step or two in farther than other non-shift people from my days volunteering as a medic, but I’m still on the outside.  No doubt about that.

So it’s with huge amounts of gratitude that my kids and I joined them during My Captain’s birthday dinner with the shift.

We brought home-made birthday cards and candles for the Boston Cream Cake the shift had bought.  Other than that, the shift did everything.

There is nothing as special as being validated by the people in your life.  I don’t care how old you are.

And there is nothing more beautiful than watching someone you love with all of your heart bask in that validation.

Validation with a side of Boston Creme Cake.  Does it get any better?  I think not.

I am trying to teach my kids to be low maintenance.  Mostly because every high-maintenance person I know is either 1) unhappy or 2) bent on making other people unhappy.  So if something isn’t ‘ just so’ or ‘exactly perfect‘ or ‘what we expected,’ I try to make a point of shrugging it off, so my kids can learn from my modeling.

So Varmint and Critter and I are in a restaurant called The Frog House for breakfast this morning, when the waitress puts a plate of Eggs Benedict in front of me.  I love Eggs Benedict…but only when the eggs are poached mostly hard.  A little bit of egg yolk is like gravy, a lot of it is the precursor to retching for me.  This dish….this dish was so raw the protein string was clearly visible.  You know the protein string?  The little pre-chick umbilical cord?  That little clear and white bit of …

…ugh…I am ready to puke just writing about it.

So there I am, faced with certain dry heaves, and my kids are watching my every move.

I poked holes in the yolks, let the raw, runny, goop run onto the plate, scooted my Benedict out of its path and did my best to act like nothing was wrong.

I could feel Varmint’s eyes on me.  On my plate.  I waited for the comment.  I took a bite, followed it quickly with hot coffee and thought of balloons and puppy kisses and yellow daisies.

It was the yellow daisy thought that did it.  Ever noticed that those are the same color as raw egg yolk?  Trust me. Exact color and hue.  I couldn’t eat much more.

Look, the good news is that the fact that I didn’t snarf down a meal as per usual escaped the watchful eyes of my munchkins, and I didn’t embarrass myself with public vomiting.

But the question I find myself asking is this: Since I WANTED to send it back, and I probably would have had my kids not been present, does that mean I really AM high maintenance?  My Captain would have eaten it, even if it had eggshell and rat turds in it.  He’s that low maintenance….he’s a firefighter.  He’s had to be.

I’m having a really hard time with this.  I can’t re-define myself at this late stage in the game.

And you can be darn sure My Captain has no desire to be married to that, either!

Varmint and Critter and I came down to Bethany Beach, Delaware for the weekend.  It was hot on the beach today…very hot.  And the flies….the flies!  THE FLIES!

They were all over me.  They were all over the kids.  They were swarming…swarming, I tell you!  The kids ran desperately to the water; I slouched miserably in my beach chair, futilely swatting at the hordes of insects trying to suck the life out of me.   There were so many of them they could have carried me away.  It was like they were the Dingos of Bethany, and I their helpless, but very juicy and tasty victim.

I had half a bottle of Bullfrog Sunscreen and Bug Repellant, and doused myself liberally.  They didn’t care; I may as well have basted myself.  They laughed, and still swarmed me; but they didn’t bite.  They just sat on me, eyeing me like I’ve often eyed McDonald’s Sausage Burritos.   Like they knew how delicious I was.  Like I was soon to be in their belly.  Like it wasn’t IF, but rather WHEN it was going to happen.

Chilling, isn’t it?

I began to wonder why the heck I was sitting there instead of safe on the ol’ glider back on the porch of Pop-Pop’s beach cottage.

And then I saw the kids playing in the water.  The most perfect word for it is “Frolicking.”  They were frolicking.  Add To and Fro, and you’ve got the exact picture.  My Varmint and Critter were “Frolicking To and Fro” in the water.

Critter has got the sniffles, and I wasn’t sure this morning that we should come to the beach at all.  But looking at him now, with the warm sand, the sunshine, the salty sea air and water….it was exactly what he needed after a stressful first week of school.  It was exactly what we all needed.

Except for the Dingo flies.

They just plain sucked.