Be Careful What You Sign Up For
Filed under: Board of Directors, Things that get my gi all in a bunch
Even though last year, I wanted to win in the election to be a member of the board at our local country club (which is more like a swimming club with a clubhouse), sometimes my three year term there feels like a life sentence. I go through these periods where I'm super hopeful and happy about things. I see changes happening and I feel like I've been part of making them happen. I have volunteered hours, days, and weeks of my life over there, doing everything from boring data entry, to decorating for Christmas, to renovating a sports bar with the help of only a handful of other people.
It is a thankless job; however, that's probably the wrong word for it. If it was a "job," I'd be getting paid. I don't. In fact, board members don't even get a free or reduced membership.
I once heard an interesting statistic. If someone likes something about your business, they are likely to tell no one or one other person at best. However, if they are unhappy, they are likely to tell 19 people, on average. And let me just put it right out there when I say that where I live, the negativity runs strong.
I spend the days leading up to board meetings feeling sick in my stomach. Our annual membership meeting is coming up in just a few weeks and if last year's was any indication, it's sure to be a day that will probably have me chewing up Tums the way I'd like to be chewing up cheeseballs. Last year's meeting felt surreal. Certain older individuals showed up wearing suits and ties, their Sunday best; while younger men and women showed up in sweatpants, straight from their kid's soccer games or swim meets. The older people thought that was disgraceful and disrespectful. I thought it was insane. I kept waiting for the cameras from one of those crazy TV shows to pop out somewhere; but I've since realized this is just reality over at the club.
Sometimes I swear that the only reason I was elected onto the board is because I was going directly to a wedding reception immediately following the meeting. I was super dressed up. I swear that got me the swing votes, despite my lack of wrinkles and gray hair. I'm sure those people are regretting that now. You know, me, that crazy younger board member who tries to make decisions based on whether or not it's actually profitable.
What has been the most frustrating part though, is that despite being a volunteer and spending much of my free time working on things for the club, planning events or taking care of memberships, there are many members who don't realize or care that the club's Facebook page is run entirely by me. And "yes," I will happily delete your negative comments on that page because I've had it up to here (points to the moon). If you don't have something nice to say, then don't say it. I am doing my best and unfortunately, I, and the rest of the board members and employees, can't always make every member happy. It's not possible. They also don't realize or care that those who are putting together the monthly newsletter and trying to maintain the website are also volunteers, volunteers with families, jobs and lives. I should also say that there are a handful of members who do nothing but put positive things on that page, and for those people, I am extremely thankful and grateful.
While some members of the board (former and current) view a board seat as a prestigious thing to have, the truth is that board members are treated like 2nd class citizens. We can't enjoy a simple dinner with our family without someone stopping by the table to complain about something (no matter how ridiculous it might be). In fact, I used to spend a lot more time over at the club, but the dirty looks and negativity has made me choose home more often than not. Mr. BBM is irritated that he can't have a conversation with his wife without being interrupted and my kids think I work there.
A couple months ago, someone cautioned me against making decisions that might not get me re-elected when my three year term is up. I laughed out loud. This is one board member who won't be running for election again. In fact, I am literally counting the days until I'm free.
The Married Dating Woman
Yesterday, I was driving Sassy and her friend to preschool when I heard Sassy whisper to her friend, "My Mommy is dating someone else's husband." I nearly wrapped my car around a telephone pole.
I most certainly am not!
"What did you say?" I asked her.
"Nothing," she blurted out way too quickly.
"No, seriously, what did you say?" I asked her again.
"No seriously, nothing," she said.
And then her friend said, word for word, exactly what I thought Sassy had said.
"Sassy, why would you say that?" I asked her.
She said nothing. Until we pulled into the parking lot and were getting out of the car. That's when she quietly whispered the same thing to her friend again.
"Sassy Middle Name Last Name! Do not say things like that! They are certainly not true! Mommy doesn't 'date' anyone. I am married to your Daddy!"
She gave me a look like "Yeah right" and I contemplated NOT taking her into preschool. I don't exactly want her spreading this ridiculous nonsense around. Soon I'll be the preschool pariah mom, which is not exactly what I had in mind.
After I dropped her off, I called Mr. BBM and told him what Sassy had said.
"Did you ask her who you're dating?" he said laughing.
"No, I didn't even think of that. I was too shocked that she would even say something like that and more than once!"
A couple week ago, my Mom took Sassy out for donuts. It was during their breakfast that Sassy leaned across the table and said "You know, Mommy and Daddy broke up. They totally did." My Mom was completely shocked and then assured Sassy that was not the case. It didn't stop my Mom from telling me about it and asking me what was up later in the day. I mean people are doing these whole "undivorce" things. Anything is possible these days. I assured my Mom that Mr. BBM and I had not broken up and that Sassy probably overheard a conversation we were having a few days prior with Big I. She had asked if we had even broken up and we told her about the 24 hour period we had broken up one time in college, before Mr. BBM came crawling back to me (I like that part). She is the master of eavesdropping and misconstruing things.
So I picked Sassy up from school and got her buckled in and popped the question.
"So, Sassy, remember how you said Mommy is dating someone's husband?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said, "you are" she added for emphasis.
"Well who do you think I'm dating?" I asked her.
I expected her to mention my neighbor. The two of us had taken our combined four kids out to eat one night when we were both single-parenting one night. We spent the night talking in half sentences thanks to multiple interruptions and trying not to step on the thousands of popcorn shrimp that made their way onto the floor. It wasn't exactly date worthy. Then again, we're both married and were in parenting survival mode, so I doubt that ever crossed either one of our minds. We are friends and we were hanging out, the same way I went to dinner and was hanging out with his wife and kids the week before.
So I was especially shocked when Sassy said, "You're dating that swim coach's husband. You know, Big I's coach, that older one? You're dating his husband."
He happens to be a straight, married man. I've spoken to him on exactly two occasions.
I called Mr. BBM and told him he better call a divorce lawyer. Clearly, I have issues. Serious, serious issues.
And I'm about to be the pariah of both the preschool AND the swim team. I now totally understand those sticky granola bar commercials where they're feeding the kids to keep them quiet. I need to get me some of those stat.
Where does she get this stuff?
Revealing Leg Vanna Style
Filed under: Back in the Classroom, Mental Strain for Mama
Yesterday I was making my way around my classroom and dropping in on peer editing groups. I joined one group and was in the middle of telling my student that she should really avoid ending sentences with prepositions when I realized it was a bit drafty in my basement computer lab classroom that lacks any and all windows.
It was then that I glanced across the room and out of the corner of my eye, caught a view of skin that wasn't supposed to be there. With my left leg crossed over my right, the undone side seam of my upper thigh pant leg was gaping and making a huge diamond shape on my thigh of blind-you-with-the-whiteness skin.
I gasped and quickly put my hand over the hole in my pants. I mentally calculated the number of minutes I still had left in this class and the one after it. I instantly revised my lessons plans so I could sit for the next class with my legs under a desk and far out of view. I went back through time searching for something that would have ripped my pants. When did this happen? How did this happen? I bought these pants TWO weeks ago and have worn them exactly twice!
I quietly excused myself from the peer editing group, mumbling something about needing a tissue and made my way out into the hallway. As I walked, I looked down at my leg and gasped again. My pants weren't ripped. The side seam was just coming completely undone from the inside out.
I made my way down the hallway to one of my favorite secretary ladies and stuck my leg out, Vanna White style, for her to see. Her eyes got wide and she immediately started searching through her desk drawers for something, anything that would seal up my pants and allow me to return to the classroom and survive until my work day was over.
She found a small sewing kit, which seemed all kinds of promising, right up until I told her that all sewing done is our house is done by my husband. Instead she grabbed a safety pin. A nervous, partially nudist wreck, I fumbled in the bathroom until my pants were closed up the best I could get them without having to take my pants completely off. It reminded me of the time last year when my bra strap came completely undone as I was busy lecturing about annotated bibliographies. These count the two times in my life when I have been grateful for my allergies. One sniffle in front of an attentive class, and I can make an emergency run to the bathroom for nostril evacuation, or so they think.
I stopped back in the office to show the secretary my leg once again. She gave me a nod of approval.
By now, I figured my writing class would have figured out that I wasn't blowing my nose. I also realized that many of them had probably seen my pant leg slit during the 15 minutes that I took explaining to them what I wanted them to do. So I walked into the classroom and shamed them for not telling me I was revealing some serious leg.
They stared at me like I was an escaped lunatic. Not one of them had noticed, yet now they were ALL looking for the big reveal. Sometimes I forget that I teach at the crack of dawn and these kids can barely open their eyes. It's all kinds of wonderful for when you're having wardrobe malfunctions.
Thankfully, my safety pin and one strategically placed binder clip kept that thigh under wraps . . . for the most part.
The other day I told you my thighs and butt were big and hungry. Now there is proof. They clearly ate my side seam.
Of Cowboys, Primates and Cheeseballs
You know that machine at the gym that works your inner thighs, Suzanne Somer style? You know, the one that you sit on and squeeze your thighs together while every man in the gym tries to ignore the fact that there is a girl on that machine, but they. just. can't. do. it. It's. just. too. temping. to. look. . . Well, I am fairly certain that it maimed me for life.
For some people, the soreness of a good workout kicks in within 24 hours; but I am a 48 hour girl. If I work out on Saturday, I will pay on Monday. Oh, how I am paying today.
Did you ever play with magnets as a kid? Did you ever try to push two together that just don't like each other? Remember how challenging it is to do that and how they just won't touch? That would be my thighs today. The inner thigh area of each leg is protesting so vehemently against the other that I swear those two haven't even high-fived all day long.
Thanks to this annoying, yet protective reaction of those very sore muscles, I appear to be walking as if I have been riding a horse for much of the day month. Look out John Wayne because this girl can walk cowboy like no other. Giddy-up y'all.
In addition to the thigh problem, every time I try to turn my body without turning my entire body, my abdominal muscles are grabbing onto my hip bones and screaming out loud as if they are in the evil grasps of a wicked tornado, threatening to fling them off into eternity forever. I'm also sort of walking like a primate.
A cowboy primate. Now that is hot.
I've also discovered something not so nice about working out. For the past few months, I've been working out hard, concentrating on strengthing my legs and getting back into nai-hanchi stance shape again. I've done hundreds of squats and lunges. I've worked hard on calf raises, leg lifts, and the leg press. I've logged hundreds of miles on the stationary bike, and I've done hamstring curls until my whole body shakes from the effort they take.
Despite all of this working out, I've been "rewarded" with jeans that are entirely too snug. My legs and butt are bigger than they were months ago; and they are not at all liking the confinement inside my jeans. They are big and hungry and they would much rather wear pajama pants or sweatpants. I am probably going to have to go buy a bigger size pretty soon as these muscular buns and thighs threaten to take out my whole pant wardrobe.I can't help thinking that it would have probably been a whole lot more fun to eat my way through pounds of cheeseballs in order to move up a size, instead of working out so diligently. Somehow, it just doesn't seem fair.
To Swing Or Not to Swing
Today, I've been married for 12 years. We've been together for 16 years. After being together for that long, sometimes you just want to try something new, to reintroduce some excitement back into the relationship.
Last night, we had dinner at a nice restaurant where I ate filet and sipped a lovely glass of wine while Mr. BBM talked to me and watched the Phillies game when I wasn't looking. (I was looking.) Today, we thought we would have a relaxing family day and it ended up that we had five kid girls in the house, including our own two for much of the day. I spent time grading an endless stack of papers while cursing myself for not playing Greg Jennings in my fantasy league. Mr. BBM spent much of the day following my orders for how to cook the wings and potato skins that made up our oh-so-healthy dinner.
It was after dinner that Mr. BBM suggested something a little different. He suggested we swing.
At first I was shocked. I mean, "What responsible adult does this kind of stuff? Especially after dinner!" What was he thinking?
And then I thought that I should just go with it and give it a try.
I have to admit that it was pretty fabulous (and I am about a thousand times better at it than Mr. BBM, clearly). . . but it can also make you feel a little nauseated. I think this is just about as adventurous as I'm willing to go.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
