Of Breakfalls in Cocktail Dresses
You never quite know when the need for your martial arts knowledge is going to pop up. Muscle memory is important and the reason why a martial artist practices the same things over and over and over again. Last night I had to use one of my martial arts skills and you might be surprised to know which one and just how well it worked.
We went to Mr. BBM's work party last night and had a great time. I was able to meet Edward while there. Clearly, he digs me too.
Hello new Facebook profile picture. I was just gearing up to get out on the dance floor when the night ended abruptly after only making it into music from the 70's. When the DJ was playing the last song at 10:30, a group of Mr. BBM's co-workers started plotting our after party plans. We made our way to the parking lot, where we realized that strawberry colored coats and silver shoes are all the rage.
And then one of the girls mentioned a bar/nightclub down the road. Although there was much protesting from a Mr. BBM who knew that if he got me anywhere near a dance floor with music about "dropping it low" (My God-every song is about dropping it low these days), he was in for a long night (he would be correct), we were on our way. (Man, that was a horrible sentence. Please don't show my students.)
We arrived at the club where college students in the area probably go, slightly overdressed for the venue. But there is strength in numbers so we walked in with our heads held high. It didn't take long for a small group of us to make our way to the dance floor. It didn't take long for me to start harassing the DJ either.
I had three simple requests:
"Say Aah" by Trey Songz, "Blame it" by Jamie Foxx, and "Baby by Me" by 50 Cent.
The DJ took in this girl in the purple cocktail dress and couldn't help but be surprised that I wasn't requesting something more appropriate for a girl about to celebrate yet another anniversary of her 29th birthday. He told me he would play them all and I went back to the dance floor, happy to wait.
While waiting, the DJ put that line dance song on that goes something like "down down do do down" or something and since we were in the middle of the floor with nowhere to go, we figured we'd better learn how to do it. We watched this one young guy who clearly knew what he was doing and copied everything he did. He had a unique way of dancing that involved kind of hopping around on your feet and so we all joined in.
We were quite proud of our newly learned skills so we were demonstrating for a couple of people who weren't in the mood to get their groove on when the unthinkable happened. Someone had spilled their drink on the floor, and as everyone knows who reads this blog, if there is an accident about to happen, it will find me.
I hopped adeptly from foot to foot and then I was falling. My right foot slipped in the beer sludge and went flying across the floor, wiping my left leg out with it. I had a second of realization that I was going down and it was not going to be pretty.
And then I landed on the floor and was quickly back on my feet, thanks to Mr. BBM's P90X'ed arm that lifted me off the floor instantly. That's when I realized that I must have done a side breakfall because nothing hurt. I wiped my wet feet off, checked the status of my dress (totally dry), and told the bouncers to mop that up before someone (me) breaks a hip or something!
Then my night got even better. A young guy who was sitting nearby saw the whole thing and was smiling at me. If there's one thing people need to learn in life, it's to laugh at yourself. So I did. I nodded in his direction and put my arms out to indicate that my awesome slide declared me "safe." He laughed and a little later he came over to talk to me. The girls I was dancing with were rolling their eyes. Clearly he had not seen the ring or the wrinkles. His opening question was "What do you do for a living?"
I told him I taught at a university and he looked taken aback. "How old are you?" he blurted out before then telling me that he had asked a really rude question. I laughed. "How old do you think I am?" I asked him back.
Without a second thought he said "25" and that's when we became best friends. Seriously though, I cracked up laughing and told him he was off by about 10 years. When I told him I'd been married for over 10 years and have two kids he shook his head in disbelief and made his way back to his seat. He may have had a little encouragement from a guy by the name of "Bob the Blocker." The fiance of one of my dancing friends, he had a very refined way of getting guys to leave us alone.
Still, the guy made my night. When you're a week away from turning 35, that kind of compliment feels fantastic.
A little later, some guy decided to do that back into you and dance thing and started trying to talk to me. He asked me if he could buy me a drink. I told him I didn't think my husband would appreciate that very much and he said he would buy my husband a drink too because he's a "lucky man." Then he guessed that I was 22 years old.
He became my new best friend, and then made his way over to Mr. BBM to tell him how lucky he was to have me. I'm guessing that after picking me up off the floor, Mr. BBM wasn't feeling particularly lucky.
Clearly, I entered an alternate universe last night or something. In a place where young guys think I'm 22 and I actually know how to do breakfalls. . . that's the only possibility.
Karate at the Club
Being on the board of directors at my country club has been a lot of work so far. It's enjoyable work, but there is so much to be done and so many things to find out about and look into that I find I'm spending hours at a time, just researching how to run a wine festival and things like that.
Tonight, I had every intention of going to karate for the first time in a couple weeks. But tonight, we're meeting at the club for a demo on a new computer system that is crucial for our club's success moving forward. I can't miss it.
Our new general manager is hard at work creating fun dinner nights that are family friendly and I feel like it's my duty to be there to support them. It's really cut into dojo time and I need to figure out a way to get my karate in. Without it, I'm just not the same.
I think what I need to do is lobby for turning part of the club into a dojo. Then I could train across the street from my house and I'd be able to be there more often. Plus, I could practice punches and kicks while people discussed ideas with me. I could totally streamline two important activities. Actually, I think adding some productive and stress-relieving punching and kicking would be good for all board members.
Unfortunately, I think that's one thing that is not going to happen. At least when Big I's swimming is over with, I'll be able to get to Saturday classes, rainbow colored knee and all.
Not the Christmas I had Imagined
I can't remember a Christmas morning as nice and fun as ours was this year. When the family arrived, we took turns opening gifts instead of having it be a free for all. It was so much more relaxed. It was really nice.
It was overshadowed a bit by my cat Colby, being sick. When we came home from vacation, he seemed ok, but skinny, unusually skinny. We thought he had not been eating as much because he missed us. My neighbor talked to me one day while on vacation and said he wasn't eating. When I talked to her the next time, she said he seemed better. I was worried about him having a urinary tract infection but he was drinking and going to the bathroom. I thought things would be ok.
Last night, Mr. BBM told me something was definitely very wrong. I ventured downstairs, despite my allergies to cats and pet him for a while. He was lethargic, not eating at all and I knew it wasn't good. I watched him walk to the litter box and he looked like he was in pain, walking gingerly, taking his time with each step.
We sent my sister a text and asked if she could bring anything to help today. She works at a vet so she showed up with all kinds of things so that we could try to get him to eat. Mr. BBM fed him baby food and liquids with a syringe. We stood him up to show my sister how he was walking and when he climbed back into his blanket, he fell forward. He was barely moving and he felt cold to me.
We found a vet ER that was open and I loaded up the carrier with warm towels and Colby, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. I told Mr. BBM we had better have the girls give him a hug and pet him, tell him they love him and so they did.
When we arrived, they took one look at him with his drastic weight loss in just the past few days and immediately took him back to see the vet. Her news wasn't good. There was a mass under his rib cage, definitely cancer, probably a very aggressive and fast growing one since this came on so very quickly. She gave us our options and told us she strongly recommended we put him to sleep. She said his temperature was low, and that his body was shutting down. She said he was obviously in pain. She wasn't telling us anything we didn't already know. We just didn't want to believe it. They could try surgery, but she honestly didn't think that he'd even live up until the time they had him prepped for it. He was already dying.
I sobbed and asked a ton of questions, some to her, some to God, about how this could possibly happen on Christmas Day and how I was supposed to break it to my little girls at home who had said prayers and told him he'd be ok and that they would see him later.
We took some alone time with him and for the first time all day, he actually purred as I put my arm down his back and gently pet him, his head in my other hand. I felt like he was saying he knew what was going to happen and that he was ok with it. The vet gave him two injections into the port and within seconds he was gone. I kept my arm around his blanketed body and held his head the whole time, not wanting it on the cold table. Mr. BBM and I pet him and talked to him while he left. It was so hard.
It is SO hard.
We were there the day he was born because he was born on my in-laws' deck when Mr. BBM and I were in college. He has been ours for 13 years and 8 months and he has always been with his brother and litter mate, Bear.
When it was all over, Mr. BBM and I each took turns holding him and crying. I wrapped him up snugly in the blanket, finally, and we said our final goodbyes.
I couldn't believe I had to bring an empty carrier home to the girls and to our Bear. Big I took it particularly hard. She doesn't understand why God didn't listen to her and answer her prayer. Trying to explain this to children is the most difficult thing I have ever had to do.
We read a poem called the Rainbow Bridge and that seemed to help her a bit. Just now though, I heard a huge sob come from her room. I'm going to go climb into bed with her until she goes to sleep.
Lil C is sleeping with her Colby webkin that looks just like him. She kicked all her other stuffed animals out tonight.
We already miss you so much Colby.
Orlando is the New Gilligan’s Island
On December 11th, my family and I left for a trip to Disney World. We spent a night at the Philly airport Embassy Suites with my parents and laughed about how we were so happy we had our own rooms at the Caribbean Beach resort in Orlando. Six people sharing one bathroom is do-able for one day. On the 12th, we went to the airport and sat for over an hour waiting for them to finish repairing some kind of generator on the airplane. When you're a nervous air passenger anyway, repairs that are happening in front of your eyes, don't comfort you. Not a bit.
Lil C survived her first flight as if she was going for a car ride. We kept the girls entertained while in the air and landed filled with excitement. What waited for us was a very long line.
It would end up being the theme for the week.
It took us several bus loads full of people until it was our turn. Once on the Magical Express, we were just plain excited. We had the whole day to spend at the park and our luggage would arrive in our room when we returned from the park.
Lil C enjoyed meeting Ariel and Big I enjoyed having her memory restored of the magical place that is the Magic Kingdom. Mr. BBM and I quickly remembered that weekends in the park are no picnic and tried to avoid becoming too frustrated with line-cutters and rude people in the parks. Also, since it was the first day, we bit our tongues when we realized that Disney was routing us through not one, but two gift shops just to exit the Snow White ride. Gift shops with Disney princess and clubhouse fans are no fun for a parent trying to keep the budget in check.
Monday was a better day. We started off at the resort pool where the girls were having a blast. The adults were having a nice time too, right up until Big I told Mr. BBM she was going on the water slide and then didn't come out at the bottom. A full on search began and when we didn't find her in the bathroom, I started to really panic. A good 15 minutes went by without being able to find her and I started running towards the manager with the walkie-talkie, right as Mr. BBM turned up with her. She had been in the "companion bathroom." It had been an emergency. Needless to say, our fun at the pool was over. It took a good hour for the adrenalin and all the bad images to leave my head. My Dad couldn't get the book "The Shack" out of his head during our frantic search; I couldn't get the research paper and speech about Human Trafficking out of mine.
In the afternoon, the girls met characters and made their way through the World Showcase in EPCOT. But Lil C kept yelling out that her mouth hurt. As much as I wanted to believe she was simply in need of a drink, deep down I knew something was up.
Tuesday morning she woke up with a fever over 100 and my heart sank. My hopes for an event free vacation were dashed once again. With our car parked in Philadelphia, I began searching for other options to get her seen by a doctor. Within an hour, a shuttle picked us up and took us to Urgent Care where Lil C was diagnosed with an ear infection. Fortunately, the place was attached to a pharmacy and I was giddy loading up on water bottles that were only $.89 after paying $2.75 the day before.
Lil C started feeling better almost instantly and we spent every day in a park, including our departure date on Saturday, the 19th.
After watching the weather reports for back home that included the words "worst snowfall ever" and "blizzard like conditions," we knew we were in trouble. Flying into Philly in 50 mph winds and horizonal snowfall wasn't going to happen. Being an experienced traveler, Mr. BBM got on the phone with USAir on Friday night. Actually, I should say that he "got on hold" with USAir, because he spent about three hours on hold, just waiting to talk to an agent.
When a terse and snot-tastic agent finally answered the phone, Mr. BBM and I were both sleeping. However, I soon realized that "Hello, USAir. . . Hello USAir" wasn't part of my dreams and yelled for Mr. BBM to pick up the phone. In a daze, he asked about our flight and we were told it was listed as affected. We were able to switch our flight to Sunday afternoon for no charge. We did it, and Mr. BBM used hotel points to book a night at the Embassy Suites. So much for only sharing a room once on vacation.
On Saturday morning, my Mom woke up sick as a dog, but there was nothing for us to do about it. We had park tickets, but no place for her to rest. We had to check out. She spent the day as a trooper, making her way through hoards of people that made me claustrophobic and annoyed. We were definitely "disney'ed out," and when I say that I mean that we were "peopled out." People can really suck. In fact, at one point, if I hadn't spent six days treking through miles and miles of park and hadn't been suffering from both knee, back and hip pain, I think I would have physically removed the huge family who cut us in the bus line and made us miss the bus back to our resort. And when I say "removed," I mean from this Earth.
On Saturday night we made our way to the airport and then caught the shuttle to Embassy Suites. Our room was really nice and we had a few drinks and decided to make the best of it. At least we didn't have to deal with another public restroom in the Disney Parks. Good God, when you have two little girls, I swear it's all you do.
The next morning, we got all packed up (again) and went to the airport. It listed our flight as "on time" and we were thrilled. We boarded the plane at 1:30 p.m. for the 1:55 flight. At around 2, the pilot came on the radio and said we would be delayed about 45 minutes because of conditions in Philly. Because our first flight had been cancelled, I was sitting with Lil C, a row ahead of Mr. BBM and Big I. My parents were 20 rows ahead of us. After another 30 minute delay, we backed away from the gate and went out to await our take-off. After 45 minutes on the runway, we were told we were going back to the gate. It continued like this all afternoon. Once back at the gate, they gave us drinks and we sat and waited and waited and waited. At 4 p.m. the pilot said he would let us off the plane to get food since there was no food on board. He told us to be back no later than 4:45 because we were probably going to get the go-ahead at 5 p.m. Everyone got off the plane, minus me and the kids and some other families. Mr. BBM went to get us food.
We ate, and were ready to go at 4:45. The eternal optimist, I still believed it was going to happen. At 5 p.m. there was still nothing. We were delayed again. Finally, at 6 p.m., the pilot told us he had some bad news. Philly was gridlock. They had only taken in 16 flights the last hour and the runway lights were covered with drifting snow. Our flight was cancelled. I may or may not have screamed "NOOOOOOO!!!!" I know I at least did in my head. I knew this already though, because the man sitting behind me got a call from his son, who had looked it up on the internet. We were listed as cancelled before our pilot even knew. I asked the flight attendants if they could just drive the plane up the highways and get us home but unfortunately, the answer was no.
We got off the plane and made our way to the ticketing agents once again. The line was insanely long. Every flight to Philadelphia had been cancelled. The problem was that some of the flights were cancelled before the people got on the planes so we were at the back of the line. My Mom and I took the girls (a sleeping Lil C who had fallen asleep on the parked plane, woken up and assumed we were home) to retrieve our bags. When Mr. BBM approached, I knew it was bad news. We weren't flying home until Tuesday afternoon. All Monday flights were booked.
Back to Embassy Suites we went for two more nights. On Monday, I spent about $25 doing laundry in the hotel and my dad and Mr. BBM went out on a 3.5 hour trek to get my Mom a called in antibiotic.
Finally, yesterday, we were able to make it onto a non-delayed or cancelled flight and return back home. Don't get me wrong; I had a great time while in Disney, but the drama that always happens on my vacations has got to stop. This is the third vacation in a row where Urgent Care has been required for Lil C. I just thank God for Embassy Suites' Manager's reception each night (free drinks and snacks). It's seriously the only bright spot during those last few days in Orlando, and what each one of the adults in our party lived for during those last few days.
The next time I go to Orlando in the winter, I am driving. And to Mr. BBM, "I told ya so."
Fruit, Stale Chocolate and Total Crap-No Really
I knew it was going to be one of those days when Mr. BBM sprayed Big I's hair with detangler right onto my arm and in the direction of my bagel. The smell of that detangler in all its fruity-non-goodness makes me hold my breath each morning when I spritz Big I. I was already irritated.
But when Mr. BBM decided to make her look like a grease monkey by dousing her roots with at least six sprays of the stuff, I lost it. I can drum up all kinds of crap in my head if I want to. "He was trying to spray my bagel. He's trying to make her look horrible so that I will do her hair from now on" etc. etc.
The last straw was me stepping in a puddle of the spray that had accumulated on my just mopped tile floor. I felt like I was going to explode.
It was then that I spilled coffee down my pants and coat. I was already running two minutes late. There was no time to change.
I arrived on campus and thought my writing students needed a break from the research part of things. So, I did the chocolate activity I do each year. I torture them with a Hershey's Kiss on their desk in front of them and then make them spend an hour writing descriptive phrases to describe what it looks like, smells like, sounds like and finally, tastes like. Last year, all of my students were coming up with these amazing similies and metaphors. Their descriptions were amazing.
This year I asked them what it looked like and someone said "tin foil." I asked them what it smelled like and one of them said, "lotion." I piled on the drama and told them I was looking for a little more description and definitely more, you know, words. Then, two of my boys complained about me giving them "stale chocolate." You know, the stale chocolate I bought last week, the sealed bag that I just opened this morning that has an expiration date of May 2010. Ingrates.
My speech class arrived and it was the first day for group speeches. I had two students show up late for their speeches, as in one of his group members had to call him to remind him to show up because he was still sleeping. What do they expect me to do? Sit and wait for them to show up? I made a mental note to subtract points from the speeches, and/or scream and yell profusely.
After meeting with a student after class whose group is a nightmare, I was off to my next event, a meeting with another board member of the country club to discuss some ideas. We met for over two hours and came up with some great stuff. It's going to be a lot of work though.
I came home, grabbed Big I and Lil C and got right back in the car to go get Big I some racing swimsuits for swim team. I made a wrong turn on the way and it took us an extra 10 minutes to get there. Upon arriving at the store, which happens to be located in my old elementary school, I told the girls how I used to go there. When we entered the building, it was like deja vous. The swim shop was actually located in my 1st grade classroom, directly beside my 2nd grade classroom where the meanest teacher on the planet happened to live. Yes, live, I was convinced she lived there in the basement or something. She was that creepy and horrible.
I told the girls the story about how I had a terrible stomach virus in 2nd grade. I needed to go to the bathroom badly but my teacher wouldn't let me go. I had no choice. I ran out the door and I didn't make it in time. It was one of the most embarrassing days of my life and being there just brought it all back.
I guess I channeled it to Lil C, because after eating a ton of "jumping beans" for dinner, Lil C came tearing across the house from the playroom, heading for the bathroom. But she stopped short and grabbed the back of her pants. She too didn't make it in time. It was a two-parent job that involved one of us balancing her while she stood teetering on the edge on the toilet (with the same one of us dry-heaving repeatedly,-a-hem, that would be me). It was a complete nightmare. My stomach is still doing flips from it.
With the exception of a good meeting this afternoon, this day has been totally craptastic and I'm not anxious to repeat any of it, especially the last part.
And in case you're wondering, it's totally legit for a parent to talk about her daughter's "stomach mishaps" when she has also, in the same post, revealed her own.
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