Yes, I am dumb

I am currently sitting at my desk in a halter shirt (so not even close to professional yet I don't really care) trying not to bawl as my shoulders are literally on fire. I needed sunblock. I even had it in my car. But do I put it on? Nope. Do I pay the price? Yup.

My thought process was, well, we would only be out a couple of hours. And it's not like it's REALLY that hot outside. So I will get a little burned, no big deal. Um, I'm dumb. Big. Freakin. Deal. What's even worst is I knew that it would happen (just like this). But without fail, once a year, I get really burned. Then I learn my lesson. I'm done. I don't tan, so I might as well stay pale.

Then there is the dreaded sleep problem. Can't sleep on my back-the back is burned. Can't sleep on my stomach-my arms need to be curled under me for that to work. Burnt arms=bad idea. Can't sleep on my sides-damn shoulders are burnt. And then have man whom I absolutely love snoring away (I think in supersonic volume) like there is nothing wrong. Hi! Something wrong! Dumb girlfriend is not sleeping! Then just BARELY contain myself from pushing him off the bed-although I may have gently punched him a couple of times. Hey! He was sleeping! I wasn't.

So yearly lesson learned-SPF 500 for George.

Only me...

Saturday was the night of Doodle's parent's 40th Anniversary party. It was great to be around so many happy people and see so many longstanding couples. All of the them had been friends for years, went to school together, and were all pretty far into their 60's. One of the girls had been friends with Doodle's mom since they were 2 months old. And one of the guys at the party had been the best man at their wedding 40 years ago. Doodle's dad joked that he had also returned the favor-all three times. But as is my luck, even though I was supposed to know no one at this party, I wouldn't get off so easily.

I had been helping Doodle and his sister all morning prepare for the party. Cleaning up a little, getting the food all out and making sure everything was set up just so. The party was supposed to start around 4pm and sure enough, 4 hits and people slowly start coming in. There is probably about 6 guests at this time. I am standing next to the back door by Doodle's sister and this couple walks in.

Uh-oh. Here it is. The moment I was waiting to happen. I knew someone. I look at Doodle's sister and say, "Holy Crap. I think that it my 6th grade teacher.". This was definitely not the environment I would expect to see an old teacher. Only 20 people were invited! The sister looks at me and says, "is that a good thing?". I tell her at the time, I hated him. But it was one of those hate because he actually made you work things. She pushes me towards the other side of the room and tells me to go ask him.

I stand next to Doodle at the window, offer to get the teacher a drink, he asks for a beer. I go get one and bring it back to him. I tell Doodle I am pretty sure that is my 6th grade teacher. Being as he has never been a shy one, he also tells me to ask.

I give the teacher his beer and ask, "Did you teach at Southern Heights?". He looks at me strangely and says yes. I ask if his last name is Cox, he also says yes. I tell him you were my 6th grade teacher. The room goes silent, then everyone starts laughing hysterically. He takes his beer and says "great, now since I have an old student here, I guess I can't drink too much and dance on the tables right?". I tell him to feel free to dance all he wants-I won't tell anyone. Then he asks the dreaded question-was it a good thing that I was the teacher? I tell him honestly, at the time no. I hated that class because I actually had to work. And because he gave me my first "C". I didn't DO C's. I was an A-B student and he gave me a C. Then I tell him once I got into High School, I realized how much that class taught me. I never had any issues with English and even took extra college classes at the same time. And when we studied the midieval times, I didn't have to work too hard because I already knew the information. He says oh, that's good and goes on to enjoy the party. I go call my mother.

The rest of the evening continues without incident. No other teacher sightings. Or anyone else I knew for that matter. And I got a completely different image of this teacher to take with me. Over the last couple of years, when those radio contests and such come up saying to nominate the best teacher, this one and one other were the only ones I could ever remember that had an impact in my life. I always thought he was extremely scary. Now I knew he really wasn't. He really did just want what was best for all of his students. And he wasn't just a teacher-he was a husband. He was married to another school teacher. They had been married for over 27 years. She was the friend of Doodle's mom at 2 months old. They were still affectionate with each other. He still rubbed her back as they were speaking, just a subconscious gesture. And he had a sense of humor. But he still looked just like Mr. Burns off the Simpsons.

My Mother's Day

The first memory I have of my childhood was when I was 5. We all lived in the "big white house". And by all, I mean lots of our family. 1 aunt, 1 uncle + wife, 1 other child uncle, my mother, sister, and I. I loved that house. We had some great times there. My aunts and I would watch Care Bears together, and when there was thunderstorms and lightning, they would make us less scared by saying that it was just God flipping the lights on and off. We would flip our lightswitches off and on with him. And the thunder was just God playing the drums. We would play our own imaginary drums. That house was where I learned to tie my shoes using some wierd shoe/foot thing with red shoelaces.

When I was 7, my mom told me we were moving. I was so angry. My friends were by that big white house. I was a quiet child and didn't make friends easily. My aunts were there. My family was there. I didn't understand why we had to leave. My mom tried the best she could to explain that she got a job (we were on public assistance before then) and this really wasn't an opportunity she couldn't pass on. It would be better for us. I didn't believe a word she was saying.

As usual, she was right. The neighbors in our new house had kids-even a daughter-who became my best friend. We outgrew each other after awhile but it was nice to always have someone around. My mom worked hard. I know that everything she did, every promotion or class she took, she did for us. As the years passed, my mother and I got closer. I could often be found-even as a teenager-sitting next to my mother with my head on her shoulder. If I had a bad day, I would talk with her about it. If my friends and I were fighting, my mom could be the rational one and remind me to think of their feelings before I said anything.

On my first mothers day, I was 19. I was 7 months pregnant, broken up with my child's father, and living with my mother. This was not the ideal situation for me at all. I was stubborn and independant. I had been taking care of myself for a whole whoppin' year by myself. Me moving back in with her was taking a step in the wrong direction. This was not how my life was supposed to be. I was supposed to be a normal 19 year old kid. Not a pregnant one who couldn't even shave her legs.

The impact of my decision to keep my son hadn't quite sunk in-not until Mother's Day. My mother gave me a gold heart pendant necklace with a woman holding her baby. When I was looking at it, something finally snapped in me. I was having a child. I would be his parent. I would be who he came to for reassurance. Or scraped knees. I would always be required to love the person inside me. I would WANT to love that person. That was such an overwhelming feeling. I wanted a do-over. My mom just stood by me doing whatever she could to make me a little less miserable-both physically and emotionally.

As the years passed since my son was born, I turned from parent to mommy. All those things I was afraid of, I transitioned into. I now have a loving, caring, affectionate, talkative, happy child. And every time he makes me a little crazy, I call my mom. I apologize for my behavior as a child and thank her for putting up with me. And everytime my son says "I love you", I know he can be okay with that because I taught him it's alright. And I could teach him that because my mother passed it onto me. It makes you a good person. Like my mommy.

Superhero vs. Barbie

For some reason, my kid woke up yesterday convinced it was his birthday. He has learned the days of the week, they do calendar daily at school so he knows that the yesterday was the 9th, today is the 10th etc. So he woke up yesterday beyond excited.

Yesterday was the 9th! That meant it was his birthday! His birthday is on the 9th...of August.

Poor auntie/momma had to explain to him that yes, it was the 9th but it wasn't his birthday. His birthday was the 9th of August and it is only the 9th of May. They even had to go to the calendar. He is a visual kid. They drew a blue birthday cake with 6 candles-how could you tell that it was a birthday cake unless there was candles?-and wrote his name below it so everyone knew.

Apparently he continued on his plight to convince the world it was his birthday at school and had to go through the same dilema.

When it was time for dinner, we decided to have a picnic on the porch. The kid is crazy. He talked to me a little more about his birthday and then he tells the auntie/momma that he knows how to make his mommy laugh. He can make her laugh all the time. He says watch-then makes this face:

And I laugh.

He does some crazy dances, it gets cold and we go back inside. Then we revisit the birthday topic. I asked him how he felt about camping. In all seriousness, he tells me we can't go camping-there are bears at camping. I tell him not where we go camping. You know, the place where there is showers, toilets and lots of running water? That is my idea of camping.

While we talk some more about his birthday, we tell him we could even get those super soakers and we could squirt each other. He tells me he wants a superhero party, and his super soaker needs to have Superheroes on it. Mine gets to be Barbie.

Okay, can we visit this here? When did my child get so boy/girl identified that he gets to have the fun superheroes and I get Barbie. BARBIE?????? I don't want to be Barbie! I want to be able to kick ass, not pose well in heels. Okay, the hair playing is fun but I will not wear the heels. I asked if I could be Superwoman or something. He tells me nope, it has to be Barbie. Then he gets all pushy and demanding telling me it is his birthday and he can have whatever he wants. I tell him that I am paying for his birthday so he doesn't get to be pushy. People who are pushy-they get nothing.

I tell this to Doodle. He says, "But you are pushy and just like that when it comes to your birthday". I have no comment.

The Question of the Week

I have gotten this question twice this week. Not really a bad thing, just unusual. Doodle asked, as did Adorable Gay Friend.

The Question: Do you know your father?

The answer: No. I have never met him.

I didn't ask many questions about him because I always thought that it would hurt my mother. She has always been both parents so there was never really a need. And I tried to act like there wasn't really a want either. But curiosity is a strange thing that you sometimes don't have control over.

When I was younger, I said to myself when I was 20, I would be "adult" enough to ask my mom for more information. I wouldn't make her do the search for me because that would be just wrong. Well, instead of finding my other parent at 20, I became a parent. I then told myself that I would just wait it out for a little while longer. I wanted to make sure I was in a really good place before I even made any attempts. You know be highly educated, have a good job (rocket scientist/doctor/teacher-really anything that sounded good), have my perfectly well mannered child, have my perfect husband and my perfect car. I was just not there yet and as soon as all this happened, I would try to find him.

As I was driving home yesterday I realized something-I already have all this. I have my perfect life.

I may not be book educated, but I am intelligent. I can help people. I am smart enough to know when people just want someone to listen-and I can do that. I have a good job. It may not be the most amazing job, but it is mine. I have earned this.

And my child may not be perfect to anyone else, but he is to me. HE teaches ME. I am a better person because of him.

The husband is still in the works but I am happy with my current situation.

And my car has a red door ding, a big dent in the hood and the service engine light is on. But I have worked for that car. I was the first one in my family to ever buy a brand new car.

I know that my mother made the right decision for us at the time. I love my mother and if I become even a quarter of the person she is, that will make me better than most. She has always put us first. She will forever be my best friend and the first person (okay, maybe the second) I call when I just need to vent about something. If I need a new perspective, she has taught me to recognize that and that it is okay to ask for help.

A lot of people think I had a rough life because I am from a "broken" home. I don't see it that way. There was nothing broken about my home. Or my family. I think I am lucky that I have one parent who gave me enough love to cover for the second instead of two parents that each loved me a little.

But I can't help but wonder. I come from a family of blondes. I am not blonde. All of my family has blue eyes. Mine are green. I just want to see where I came from. Even if it turns out to be wrong, or something I don't really want to know. I am at a point in my life where I can accept the outcome-whether it means that I have a father or that I don't.

A little sugar crazy

I had an amazing weekend. And I learned a lot about myself, Doodle, and the relationship.

An entire weekend of just us (and a little of his brother and parents). I had been looking forward to it all week. No late night bowling, or freezing Mariners games, or crazy family get togethers. Just me and him. So. Very. Excited. I could barely contain myself.

On Friday, I am waiting around for the kid's dad so that I could get this weekend movin'. He actually shows up during the hour he said he would. And Doodle was already off work so I pack my stuff-including dirty laundry-and head over.

We start making dinner together. I love this part of our time together. Anyway, we finish making our Cinqo de Mayo feast and head outside to eat in the sunshine. When we were done, we head inside to watch some TV. He also busts out some ice cream he got just for me. Chocolate ice cream with fudge chunks, fudge ripple and peanut butter cups. Have I mentioned that I REALLY love him???

Saturday morning, he gets up and goes to the store to get some eggs. Of course he cooks me breakfast. When we are done, we get ready to go, tell his lazy ass brother we are headed to the parents house. The boys had to move some furniture-this had been planned most of the week.

We make a pit stop at a new Starbucks. I get a little tingle everytime I see a new one. He knows this so he plays along. Then we head up to the parents and what do we find? No brother. Very likely he fell back asleep. At first, Doodle wouldn't let me help but it is either gonna be me or his mom lifting furniture. And I'm not letting his mom move that big dresser.

3 hours later-after some manly moving and sawing, we finally leave. We get home, have lunch/dinner and he starts baking cookies. I go take a nap. Wake up a couple hours later and we watch the Strong Man competition. He wants to be like those guys some day. You know, the ones lifting 400lb rocks and bench pressing 1008 pounds. I told him that is fine as long as he doesn't get that wierd extra neck thing.

Sunday morning, he makes a quiche. I love him. Then we start looking through all his recipies and I find a couple I want to try for dinner. Since he is out of sugar, we go to the store and I buy the stuff for dinner and he gets the sugar. As we are in the store, I am reminded of how much fun he is. He starts aisle dancing. Comparable to Adorable Gay Friend's cube dancing. But in the grocery store. To Shania Twain. I start walking away, turning all red, when he catches up to me-still dancing-and gives me a hug from behind, telling me I am not getting away that easy. And that the aisle dancing is genetic-his mother does it too. We finish up and head back home.

Then comes the sugar. Not like the kind we bought. But the kind that sometimes makes me a little crazy. Like hysterical laughing for absolutely no reason. And some wierd twitchy foot thing. And me not capable of sitting still. Oh yeah, and I break national speeds records for talking super fast. I could not control myself. Then I had an epiphany.

I was going crazy. Not the commited kind of crazy, but totally and completely stir crazy. I spent an entire weekend with him alone and no contact with the outside world. None of my family, none of my friends, not even my mother. And as much as I love him and love being with him, I need more. I don't want to cut off my friends. I don't want to not have the insanity of my life. I want him to be a part of my insanity, not all of it. I can have both. This idea has never crossed my mind. It has always been the man, or the family/friends. Never both.

But with him, everything is different so it shouldn't be a shock that this is either. I mean, really, who could NOT love a man who aisle dances to Shania Twain. Even if it is a little strange.

And his other talent...the best ass kisser

No, I am not talking about Doodle. Don't be dirty. My kid, he is good. He is beginning to even surpass the abilities I possesed as a child to instantly make all adults melt. I will never be immune to his charms. And I still have a lot of years left to deal with it.

Last night I bribed him to eat all his dinner as I had the night before. Yes, I am one of those parents. The bribe being desert which we rarely have. Last night's desert was a popsicle (but it was one of those kinds with fruit in it. Fruit is good right??). I have given him his popsicle-he picks out the green one which is supposed to be lime. He decides that it tastes like blueberries.

As he is eating his blueberry-lime popsicle, he says "I have the most bestest mom ever! Do you know who my favorite mom is? You have to guess..."

He then looks at me and says, "I will give you a hint. She works with you." I start listing off all of the chicks I work with, and some guys as he giggles away. He then comes behind me and says, "I will give you one more hint. I am pointing to her.". I look up and see his finger directly over the top of my head. How can you resist that?

He goes over the same thing with, "who is the bestest, most favoritist aunt?". Conclusion being the auntie mom.

And then to continue on says that he is gonna come to work with me and talk to my boss. And tell my boss she is the bestest most favorite boss ever.

Yes kid, would you like 5 more popsicles with that? Oh, you want the full sugar kind? Sure! And you want to dip them in more sugar too? Okay fine, just this once...

Yup, I suck. But atleast he hasn't learned to do the ass kissing BEFORE he gets what he wants. Then I will really be in trouble!