All I really have to report tonight is that it’s cold. Like… bitter cold. Like… the kind of cold that makes you wonder why on earth you ever thought buying a house that was foreclosed upon in Phoenix, for cheap American dollars and remodeling it, was an idea you weren’t interested in.
Except then I remembered: 120 degrees in the summer. But then I thought, A solid 80 when Small Town, USA is undergoing an Arctic Cold Front that would make polar bears sit up tall and ask, “WHEN is it going to warm up?” There are always pros and cons to any major life decision.
I also taught PE today, and I helped with Indoor Recess, because state guidelines suggest that we really should not send little children outside when their nose hairs freeze to icicles the very second they set foot outside of their school building. I always have teachers who grin and shake their heads at me and say, “I don’t know HOW you teach PE, with all that running and hollering; I’d have a headache during first hour!” To this, I always answer, “I don’t know how you teach biology in a classroom all day, going over meiosis and mitosis and WHO JUST FELL ASLEEP?”
Five entire grade levels in the gym at one time makes me think that I’m just a bathrobe away from having my own padded cell in an institution. I feel like the Grinch, as I holler out, “The noise! The noise! THE! NOISE!” But then I remind myself that it’s only for fifteen minutes, and the human soul can withstand almost anything for fifteen minutes.
For instance, I had a C-section with anesthetic that “didn’t really take.” And if I ever complain about Indoor Recess again, you just remind me of the time I decided I could just keep the boy in my belly forever, because STOP WITH THE SLICING ALREADY, BEFORE I PASS OUT! It only lasted about eight minutes, so see? Things can be endured; it’s a mindset.
With nothing new to report, I thought I’d just do something for fun. I’ve been seeing these RANDOM THINGS ABOUT ME lists that everyone is busy posting on Facebook. I have to say, I’ve had the very best time reading them, because I had no idea that Miss So-and-So was terrified of squirrels, or that Mr. This-Guy once threw up on the basketball court during a 7th grade game. The whole concept was that if you commented on someone’s list of random facts about themselves, they would give you a random number, and then you had to write that many things about yourself.
So, I was handed number twelve. I thought I’d just do a blog post on random facts, instead of a Facebook post, because then I’d at least have SOMETHING to blog about tonight.
Other than the weather.
Which makes me feel rather elderly, because the weather report is something your 87-year-old great-uncle recites on a daily basis.
So here you go… twelve random facts that you may or may not have known about me.
1. I get motion sickness like nobody else on this planet. In fact, while I was snapping pictures of the boy riding on a carnival ride, with both of my feet on the ground, because YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING, when it comes to suggesting that I would ever spend money and get ON a ride, I had to take a Dramamine, so that I didn’t throw up JUST WATCHING. But once in my adult life, I really DID get on a ride. Hubs’ sister was in town with a friend, and we had gone to the carnival with them. The three of them bullied me, claiming that JUST TRY IT! JUST TRY ONE EASY RIDE WITH US! YOU WON’T GET SICK ON AN EASY RIDE! And so, people, I caved to the peer pressure, even though my mama had taught me never to do that. We boarded these giant strawberries that circled around a track. There was a steering wheel inside of them, that you could turn to make them circle in smaller circles, while those strawberries were already busy circling a track. Confused yet? Just envision a giant, spinning strawberry with four passengers, spinning in two directions at one time. I’m here to tell you that it was pretty much the seventh circle of hell. When we disembarked, I couldn’t even walk. I had to go LIE DOWN AT THE CARNIVAL!! Oh, yes; I did. There were some buildings a bit away from all the lights and the rides and the noise. I stumbled over there, away from the crowds, and just flopped down in the dirt. Let’s talk about keeping it classy, shall we? And then I threw up everywhere, while Hubs laughed so hard, he couldn’t breathe. And then a nice police officer walked by and suggested that he’d need to see my ID, because WAS I AN UNDERAGE DRINKER? No, sir. I was twenty-seven years old, and I got sick on the strawberries, that’s what I did. Only the officer didn’t understand what I was talking about, between all the barf that was coming out of me, and DID SHE DRINK STRAWBERRY MARGARITAS? No. SHE BELIEVED HER HUSBAND WHEN HE SAID HE WOULDN’T SPIN THE STEERING WHEEL IN THE GIANT STINKING STRAWBERRY, AND NOW SHE’S PAYING FOR IT! She’s a hot mess, laying in the dirt at a carnival, puking like a fraternity boy… that’s what she is. And that was the very last time I’ve been on a carnival ride. If we ever take the boys to Disneyland, I plan on finding a nice Starbucks to sit in, while Hubs hauls our boys from ride to ride.
2. I cannot sleep with my hair touching my neck. My hair is a little longer than my shoulders. During the day, it’s all fine and dandy for it to be down, but once I crawl into bed, IT CANNOT TOUCH THE BARE SKIN OF MY NECK, or I cannot sleep. It becomes THE HAIR OF A CAMEL. Or a NICE LITTLE HAYSTACK. I’m a SLEEP IN A PONYTAIL sort of girl.
3. I cannot stand cottage cheese. I can’t even tolerate WATCHING someone eat cottage cheese. There’s something about THIS USED TO BE MILK, BUT NOW IT HAS SORT OF CURDLED INTO THESE LITTLE YUCKY BALLS that kills me dead. If you put cottage cheese in your lasagna, I will not be able to eat it. Cottage cheese is really the only food that I can think of that will make me throw up like a spinning strawberry. There are other foods that I don’t like, but cottage cheese is the pinnacle.
4. I cannot do bones in meat. At all. Not even a little bit. I cannot touch a bone. If, heaven forbid, my teeth ever scraped a chicken drumstick, I would probably convulse and start to sob. Hubs and the boy have to de-bone all the chicken and turkey carcasses around here. I once bought a roast to put into the crockpot, which I did AFTER the boy had gone to school and Hubs had headed to work. When I unwrapped it, there was an ENORMOUS, ROUND BONE staring up at me. I started to cry, because the big boys were gone, and there would be NO HELP. I could barely pick that hunk of meat up to put it into the slow cooker. I will not eat your hot wings, because I cannot touch the bones. The boy’s buddy, Enzo, broke his arm the summer before 6th grade, while we were all at a party at the golf course. Enzo’s arm was shaped like a giant U. He was going into shock, shaking uncontrollably, because his arm was literally SNAPPED IN HALF. I had to hold him and calm him down, while we got his mama. I honestly thought I was going to pass out. I lost all of my peripheral vision, and I started to sweat, because BONE! BONE! BOOOOONNNNNNE!!! I learned that I am really NOT the person you want in attendance when you snap an arm clean in half, so that it bulges your skin out.
5. I cannot parallel park to save my life. I don’t even attempt it, because of the embarrassment factor that will set in. Hubs, on the other hand, could parallel park a train. So could the boy. When the boy was four, he asked Hubs to teach him to parallel park his battery-operated Jeep that he could drive. When he was eleven, he taught himself to parallel park his four-wheeler.
6. I was an English major for the first two years of college. And then… I had this vision, of what it was really going to be like to grade poetry written by moody, 8th grade girls, and term papers written by 6th graders. It pretty much gave me hives, and I knew I had to switch. Suddenly, the thought of teaching English and Writing to junior high kids made me shiver. So… I switched my major, and now I teach PE.
7. I can’t stand when the fitted sheet on our bed has a wrinkle in it. It might be because I’m a real princess. I have had to get out of bed to straighten the bottom sheet on numerous occasions.
8. The remote control to our TV / DVR / cable box / DVD player overwhelms me. When I have it in my hand, it’s exactly like Caroline Ingalls crawled into a DeLorean time machine, drove 88 miles an hour, and ended up in front of our Samsung. I have no idea what 99% of the buttons do. I never know if I’m watching live TV or recorded TV or five-minutes-delayed TV. Thankfully, I don’t care enough about TV shows to make a big deal of it, but I know the boy and Hubs ALWAYS roll their eyeballs into their heads when I ask them again, “So? How do I get to HGTV?” Remember the episode of Modern Family, where Claire woke Hailey up in the middle of the night to teach her to use their family’s remote control, so that she could impress Phil the following morning? Yeah? That’s me.
9. ALL of my Christmas decorations MUST come down on December 26th. Christmas is over then. It’s a sickness I have, which Hubs calls The Scrooge Syndrome. One year, we were at the city landfill to dump off our Christmas tree at 9 AM. The guy who weighed our truck and asked what we were dumping was shocked. By noon on the 26th, I want my house ready to take on the new year. I want it cleaned, and I want those stockings down, and I want the snowglobes put away for another year.
10. I can drive a stick-shift. I can drive one well, in fact, because my daddy taught me how. My Suburban, which I have now, was my FIRST-EVER automatic.
11. Yes. My C-section with the boy was very much UN-pretty. I’m terrified of needles (So… you know… HELLO, NEVER GONNA HAVE A TATTOO BECAUSE OF THE NEEDLES!). When the anesthesiologist attempted to put the GIANT, ENORMOUS, GIGANTUAN needle into my back to numb me from the waist down… I jumped. And I jumped badly. The nurse and the doctors all hollered at me: “Don’t jump like that!!” But then my legs went numb, so hey… it must’ve worked. What we didn’t realize, though, is that somehow the anesthetic had just shot down one hip and caused my legs to fall asleep. What it FAILED. TO. NUMB. was my belly. Where they’d… you know… BE CUTTING. If that isn’t the most unpleasant feeling you’ve ever endured, I don’t know what is, because DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO HAVE A SCALPEL SLICE THROUGH FORTY-NINE LAYERS OF SKIN? There is a bit of discomfort. I believe my exact words were, “LEAVE THE BABY IN! I DON’T WANT THE BABY OUT AFTER ALL!” But then a mask was slapped onto my face, and LORD, HAVE MERCY, I was going to black out from inhaling the anesthetic. Which, of course, I didn’t want to do, because HUBS AND I DIDN’T KNOW IF WE WERE HAVING A BOY OR A GIRL!! I wanted to be awake to find out the biggest surprise of all. So I’d slap the mask off my face… and then ALL THE CUTTING AND THE RIPPING, and the IS THIS A CHAINSAW MASSACRE??!! And then the mask would go back on my face again, and I’d be going under, so I’d slap it off again. Apparently I was rather high maintenance in that O.R. But we made it through, with very little Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. And the anesthesiologist yelled out, “It’s a BOY!!” So there went my dreams of having tea parties and pedicures together, as I embraced a life of bugs and dirt and reptiles and Legos and sword fights. But… I wouldn’t have it any other way. I ADORE being a “boy mom.” I love having boys!
12. I still have a wicked crush on Hubs. I do. And I love our two boys like crazy. I can’t imagine having anyone else to share my home with, and I feel like God has blessed me here beyond what I deserved. Those three boys of mine are THE BOMB! They are so perfect for me.
Alright, people. There you go. Twelve random facts about me, some two entire thousand words later!!
SORRY ABOUT THAT.
Y’all carry on and have a happy Tuesday evening.