Drama Queen? You decide!

I wouldn’t say I’m a drama queen.  There are a lot of areas in my life where I don’t want drama.  But I have some places where I certainly don’t mind it.  I like it in my books and movies.  For example, I prefer Jane Eyre over Pride and Prejudice.   And I like to cry really hard in a movie.  I also don’t mind some drama when I’m running races, as long as it serves my purposes.  Like if I’m not as fast as I’d like to be I appreciate a good obstacle/drama that I can blame my pace on.  For example, one time I ran a race in really hot weather.  My time was slower than my previous races, but who could blame me with that heat?  Then I ran a race even slower than the previous ones including the hot one, but I had an injury, and I was hungry and cold.   I even had proof that I was hungry and cold.  I begged food off of a volunteer and got another volunteer to take the sweatshirt off of his back for me.  Then I ran a race and got my personal best time.  So I didn’t need an obstacle that day.

Last week I did another race.  The weather was perfect, I didn’t have an injury, and I had done this race before (it was the hot one).  As I was nearing the finish line, I could see that I wasn’t going to set a personal record.  Heck, I wasn’t even going to beat my time when I ran it in hot weather!  I almost finished that race without any drama/excuses.  And then it happened, I fell down on my face and got scratched up.

Come to think of it, if it wasn’t me, I’d be suspicious about this obstacle and how genuine it was.  Was this fall really an accident?  Or was I desperate for a story?   Consider the cause of this fall as we contemplate just how much truth there is to my “obstacle:” A Watermelon slice.  That’s right, that’s how it all went down (literally).  There is plenty of water and Gatorade to be had, and even orange slices and bananas.  But watermelon is a rare find.  The first time I spotted it, I went for it, but missed it.  I kept running and promised myself that if I saw that precious fruit again, I would not miss it.  It took some time, but eventually there was another person handing out watermelon.  I was in the middle of the street and the watermelon was on the right side.  I had to do some fancy moving, which didn’t end up being fancy, and while I reached for the watermelon, I took a tumble. Innocent?  I don’t know.  It would be one thing if my knees were scratched, and my face, or one shoulder.  But knees, face, one side of a shoulder, and the other side of the other shoulder.  That just doesn’t sound like a natural fall.  How do you scratch up both shoulders?  Sounds suspicious.  It’s almost like I went home and put some makeup on my other shoulder and showed my husband that I’ve discovered more scratches.  I’m surprised I didn’t wake up the next morning and say, “And look!  Now I have these braces and a headgear!  I don’t know how it happened! It must’ve been from that crazy fall during the race.”

Just watch out if I report that some “anonymous” clown comes out of the crowd and smashes a pie in my face during my next race.  I’d keep my eye on me if I wasn’t me.  I’m confused; I think I need a good movie to clear my head.  Now where did I put that Jane Eyre DVD? 

Safety

One Sunday, after church, I was getting my kids in the car to go home.  I got in the driver's seat and let my kids get in by themselves.  I think it's good to teach independence to kids at a young age, especially when you don't feel like helping them get in a car.  And it's good to teach them how to buckle themselves up at a young age, because buckling kids up is boring for adults.  But it's got to be done, so teach them how to do it at a young age.  Tell them that it's a game, or, tell them that they're "so big" because they can buckle themselves up, and they'll love that so much!  Don't tell them that you're just bored with buckling them up, because they might think that you don't care about safety.  And we all know that safety is important!

And speaking of safety, I did have a wake up call to safety as I was getting in my car (after church), and my kiddos were all climbing in.  My two year old was still outside of the car and I let the bigger kids help her in the car.  Meanwhile, someone climbed into the passenger seat up front and shut the door.  All of a sudden, I saw my husband (who was talking to a friend just outside of the church building), sprint towards my car!  And I do mean SPRINT!  And the look on his face said, "Danger!"  I was confused because I did not hear any alarming sounds coming from the people in my car.  Things seemed to be calm on our end.  But my husband's sprinting motion, and the crazed look on his face said, "Things are not calm!!!"  And I just thought "Why is he was sprinting so hard?" and "Who's hurt?"  and "Why isn't anyone acting hurt?" and "What is going through his friend's head?" (who he just ditched), and "All of those runs he's been going on have really paid off" and "Why isn't anyone crying really loud?"   And you might think that with all of these thoughts going through my head, that my husband is not a fast sprinter.  Because I was able to think a lot while my husband was "sprinting" to the car.  And you might be thinking that maybe he should give up sprinting and stick with speed walking.  But he is fast.  

So when he finally got to the car, I mean, when he got to the car in what seemed like a half a second, he let us in on the mystery.  When someone shut the door that my two year old was standing by, he thought her hand was stuck in the door.  And he was going to save her!  And we started laughing at the whole situation.  When we drove away, I commented on how fast Dad was.  My six year old said, "When Dad runs a marathon, you should have a picture of a baby whose hand is stuck in a door, in front of him.  And then he'll run fast."  I thought that was a great idea.  But this  was problematic, because, we wouldn't want to ask someone to pose for this picture.  That's just not safe.  And safety is important!

I Need to Learn Another Language

The other day I was at my daughter's basketball and I saw a friend of mine there watching her daughter who was on the opposing team.  I really like to have fun social experiences with friends, but I think it's awkward when your daughters are playing against each other.  I should say awkward when there is at least one competitive person (me) who is trying to act like I'm not competitive at all.  I don't know if I pulled it off.  For example, I was probably a little too enthusiastic about her daughter making baskets.  I clapped and smiled and looked at my friend to make sure she knew I was clapping.  The score was too close for comfort for me at one point.  And then after half time, we pulled way ahead.  I noticed there wasn't a lot of conversation going on between me and my friend.  But she did make a comment that our team has some very strong personalities amongst our parents.  There is one dad in particular, who is very vocal, even at practice, and he happened to be sitting right behind her.  But I got self conscious and basically wanted to prove that we weren't one of "strong personalities."  When my husband would yell some advice out to my daughter, like, "Who are you guarding?  Find your person!"  I was like, "Lighten up dude!  It's just a game!  As long as she's having fun…and stuff" and then I looked at my friend and smiled, to reassure her that I don't care what happens in this game.  But I'm secretly totally on board with my hubby.  This is when I realized that I needed to learn another language.  Then I can communicate to my basketball player what I'm really thinking, while pretending to be a chill, easy going, sports parent.  For example, I could yell, "Deplacer!!" with a huge smile, while holding a sign that says, "Just as long as you're having fun!  Everyone's a winner!"  But before the game, I'll teach Susie that "Deplacer!!" is French for "Move!!" And I'm pretty sure I'll get away with it, because I don't know anyone here who speaks French.  

On another note, I mentioned to my friend that we have a set of triplets on the team, which is always good material for an interesting conversation.  But her response was like, "Oh…."  and then I thought, "Now what do I say?"   I know!  I'll ask her if she's a triplet… That could break the ice a little.  Or at least it would distract her from the fact that I was thinking, "I hope we win this game by 100 points!!"

Delusional

I think I'm a little delusional.  For example, sometimes I think I'm still really young and then I find myself  driving home from the store and I feel like I want to pull over and take a nap, because I'm too tired to drive 10 more minutes. That is a moment I realize I'm not so young.  Or I'll be having a conversation with someone about age and I'll ask them to guess mine, and they guess my age right on the dot.   I hate that.  I don't even accept when they take two years off of my age.  Not acceptable.  I want 7 or more years off, or the conversation wasn't even worth it.  I'm also delusional about my agility and gymnastics skills.  But then my two year old came up to me and asked me to help her do a "handspring."  So I picked up that little two year old body and flipped her around and she said, "Thanks Mom."  And I'm thinking, "Anytime, that's what I do! I flip kids around, because I'm young and agile."  And then she said, "Can you do a handspring?"  And I said, "yes" and did my version of a "handspring."  Then she sweetly responded, "You can't?!  I help you!"  And in my mind, I'm like, "I just did one!"  But it's cool.  

Being delusional is kind of sweet.  It gives us a moment of peace, confidence, whatever…until reality hits us.  But we don't need reality hitting us all the time.  We just need it sometimes.  I'll never forget being in a math class in college, and we got our graded tests back and the girl in front of me totally flunked the test, and she said, "I thought I did well on this test."  And I was like, "How could you have thought you did well when you flunked?!" (didn't say it out loud).  I would understand if she had gotten a C and said, "I thought I would at least get a B."  But then I have to think, "What a great attitude she had!"  And she had, like, two days where she was excited about doing well on a test.  That's better than taking the test, being sad about doing a poor job and then getting the test back and remembering you did a poor job.  Who am I to mock her delusional thinking?  We could all use a little delusional thinking once in a while.

So today, I will be delusional:  I am young, and not tired.  I am a gorgeous!  I am brilliant!  I am confident!  And I'll let you know if reality tells me something different.

Classy Trash

Today, I was throwing a birthday party for my daughter.  It’s good for me to host things at my house every once in awhile because it whips me into shape, and I clean my house really well, and I put picture frames on the wall, and I buy a couch for people to sit on, and my kids wear stuff other than PJs for a minute, etc.  So today, before the party I was tidying up the front lawn.  There were a few bits of garbage and items that didn’t belong on a nice front lawn.  I noticed how much rubbish there was (I like to say big words like “rubbish” right before hosting a party, so I can be prepared to sound smart).  And as I’m picking it up, I’m thinking how all this rubbish doesn’t look very classy, so really, it’s a good thing I’m picking it up.  Then I saw a piece of dental floss on our patio, and I was like, “Wait!  Do I remove this?  Because, sure, it belongs in the garbage, but what does it say about us?  It says that we floss and we don’t just casually floss, we floss so much that it even ends up on our front porch sometimes.  How much classier can we be?!  Not much!"  So I concluded that there is such thing as classy trash.  But I threw it away and I just hope that people feel the classy vibe.  And I kind of regret throwing that piece of floss away.  But I am not digging that out of the trash.  I don’t care how much classy trash is in there. 

Burger

The other evening my family (and I) went to my oldest daughter’s softball game.  We enjoyed some burgers and fries from a local joint.  During the game, I was pitching a tennis ball to my middle daughter and some boys from other families joined the fun.  While playing, my five year old approached me with a half eaten burger, handing it to me, letting me know that he was finished.  So I have my moments when I’m not picky with food.  Like I don’t have problem with kid’s goobers, and kid hands touching my food.  My pickiness usually has more to do with the quality of ingredients.  So my five year old hands me his half eaten burger, and before ten seconds pass, I take a bite of that burger.  No problem, it was a good quality burger.  One little kid immediately tells me that he saw that burger fall on the ground.  I was conflicted.  I wanted to look like a responsible adult, who makes responsible decisions, but seriously, it tasted just fine to me.  But, I nodded my head, like, I knew what I had to do.  Of course you throw this burger away!  Whatevs!  As I walked away from him to “throw” the burger away, I kept looking back at him, nodding like I totally agreed with him, and this burger was history, aka, about to be trashed!  But I totally wanted that burger, and I still had a bite in my mouth, so I chewed slowly and savored it.  Then I looked back at the clean-freak kid, and nodded again and then pointed to the burger and gave it a thumbs down!  There was no way I was going to eat a burger that was on the ground.  At least that’s what I hoped this kid would tell his parents and then they would totally think that I was a responsible parent.  Meanwhile, I’m still loving me some burger, secretly.  Then the moment comes, when I’m faced with the trashcan.  I look back and sure enough, this kid is keeping his eye on me.  Good grief, go jump in a puddle, or play tag with a friend, or better yet, find a piece of ABC gum and live a little!   Finally, I swallowed my bite and trashed the rest of the “contaminated” burger, and tried to enjoy the rest of my daughter’s softball game, with the “Clean Burger Police” breathing down my neck!

August 11, 2015

Okay, spoiler alert!  This blog entry will contain material about vomiting.  If you’d rather not read, I totally understand.  I don’t like to offend people, so if a story that includes the word “vomit” is offensive or disagreeable to you, skip it.  Oh, but wait!  I didn’t actually vomit (in the story), which is another spoiler alert, but now that you know vomiting did not actually happen, maybe you’ll read.   But maybe you won’t read, because I’ve included 2 spoiler alerts in the first paragraph…moving on! 

Last weekend I ran a half marathon.  I’m a pretty competitive person, but I can be kind of lazy too.  Like, I will run a race, and I will try to run it hard, but I won’t drink enough water days before the race, because I don’t like the action of getting a cup, putting water in it, and drinking something tasteless, that fills my belly.  That’s boring. 

So race day comes, and I was at the starting line, doing my usual ritual which is thinking about my shoelaces, (if they’re too tight or not tight enough), and then I think about it some more. I also slyly examine other people’s shoelaces.  Occasionally I strike up a conversation with another runner about shoelaces. I wish I could say I was joking, but this is true. 

And then the race began.  Things seemed to be going fine, but towards the end of the race, I decided to push myself some more.  As I did this, my stomach started to hurt, so I backed off.  Hmmm, this was new.  I’ve experienced lots of discomforts while running, but not a stomachache.  Then as I neared the finish line, I started to sprint, like I normally do.  As I crossed the finish line, I had this overwhelming feeling that I would vomit right there and then. 

I hurried to the closest garbage can, and noticed a nice man standing right next to it, just minding his own business, enjoying a beautiful day.  So guess what kicked in?  That’s right, my need to be agreeable.  Sometimes this is good, and sometimes you just need to get the job done.  But here I am worrying about making this fella uncomfortable, and I was seriously on the verge of heaving.  So, I started to walk away and look for a garbage can farther away.  I couldn’t see one at a comfortable enough distance, and I realized that it might happen on the ground, in the crowd, which was even worse!  I needed to get out of there!  If only I wasn’t so agreeable!  I could’ve just used that first garbage can.  Then I could’ve just apologized to the nice man, and offered him my last fuel gel pack (as a prize for being understanding).  And he would’ve given me this funny look, and I’d be like, ‘Hey! That’s all I’ve got!  Beggars can’t be choosers!”  And he’d slowly back away, and I’d be like, “What do you want?!  My medal?!”  And then he’d start to run away from me.  And then I’d yell, “What more can I say?!  Fine, you can have my shoes too!” And then he’d turn and look at my shoes, because maybe he needs a new pair.

But guess what the cool part of this story is, after a few minutes of me trying to figure out what to do with my conflicting feelings (stomachache vs. not wanting to offend), the nauseous feeling subsided, and I went on my merry way.  I wonder if that guy knows what I went through for him.