Really?

I love the word really.  The word really can be used in so many ways in sentences.  Examples:

·        I really like your shirt.

·        I really wanted to go to the show on Friday.

·        Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?  (This was a song made popular by Culture Club.  I am sure many wanted to really hurt Boy George, but I rather liked him).

·        MOM, you are REALLY the only parent in the world that won’t let ME GO!

So all those “really” sentences are REALLY okay, but my favorite really sentences are not with the word really in them, but following them.  Are you following me?

You hear the word really all the time following a statement or as a statement.  Case in point.  My husband and I went shopping the other day and when we were checking out I had to grab the US Weekly magazine.  Instead of just going with it and saying absolutely nothing, he looked at me and said, “Really?”  This simple “really” made the cashier chuckle.  Better yet, there is nothing like my son looking at me all puzzled as I am doing something, complete with his one eyebrow raised, and saying, “Really?”

I especially love it when my neighbor comes over and says it, which he does quite often.  Sometimes I think he originated the “really” statement.  However, he has an added touch to the word really.  He adds the word “dude” at the end.  An example.  While watching my husband do something “Polish” he in turn will say, “Really dude?”

Why is it saying this verb/adverb/interjection so much fun and comical?  I really don’t know, but it really is.  I am sure after reading this little blurb people may shake their heads and say, “Really?”  J

Motherdom



As you can see, from an early age Shaun didn't want to listen to me.



Being it is Mother’s Day; I thought I would take a trip back to my road to “motherdom.”  If motherdom is not a word, it is now.  I became a mom when I was 24 years old.  Some people told me you “forget everything” once you have your baby.  Not this trap door of a mind.

During my first trimester, people said to me, “You are going to sleep and sleep.”  Did I sleep and sleep?  Of COURSE NOT.  The first trimester I stayed awake.  And to add to the pleasure of no sleep, I had a cold the first three months.  When they say, “You are glowing” it was probably my red nose they were talking about.  I was also afraid I would never want to eat pizza again.  The sight or smell of it made me gag.  What were my cravings?  Beer and fruit. 

Enter second trimester.  The worst yet.  I had the worst heartburn known to man.  Forget Tums and Rolaids, they couldn’t touch the pain.  I thought to myself that if the old wives tale is true regarding heartburn and your baby having a lot of hair upon birth, well I guess my baby was going to have an afro.

The final stage, the third trimester.  Supposedly this is the worst time.  Not for this Polish woman.  This is when I felt my absolute best, even though I waddled when I walked.  It really amazed me, when riding the train, how many men would see me waddle down the aisle and raise their Wall Street paper high above their head so as not to make eye contact.  A man never gave up his seat for me, only women would.

I thought I was going into labor while I was at work, but I was totally relaxed about it.  I made sure everything was in order prior to leaving the office.  Everyone just kept looking at me and telling me to get out already.  Turns out, I wasn’t in labor and was home a week before having to go the hospital.  I remember going to the bathroom and seeing a nice mucus glob in the toilet.  Great, I thought.  I am going to miss Oprah.  I called the doctor, who said to go to the hospital.  I also called my mom, who hurried over.  I wasn’t too happy about having to go to the hospital.  Again, I was going to miss Oprah.  Also, I was going to miss the remaining 3 classes of Lamaze!  I didn’t care about missing all that breathing stuff, I was upset about not getting the free gifts they would give us each week.  Let’s not forget about the refreshments they served in between our breathing practice.

So we get to the hospital and they hook me up to the monitors.  It was great; my heart rate was just as fast as Shaun’s.  It was like dueling heart rates.  I remember thinking the contractions were not bad at all; however, my water had not broke.  After a few hours, I was told they were going to break my water with this knitting needle.  Once the water broke, then the contractions really started.  I also remember not wanting the sheets to touch me.  People in the room tried covering me up but I glared and said, “If they haven’t seen a naked woman before, then this can be their first!”   And that focus spot they wanted you to look at?  Forget about it.  If they told me to focus on whatever it was I was supposed to focus on, I would do the opposite.  “YOU focus on the picture on the wall!”  Anything and everything annoyed me at this time.  My mom tried to help me with my breathing, but all it sounded like to me were snake hisses. 

Let’s not forget the constant throwing up while I had my contractions.  Oh, good times.  The nurses kept telling me to lie down even though I told them I was throwing up.  Finally, to make them happy, I said, “Okay, sure, I will lie down for you.”  How great was it when they tried helping me to lie down and they immediately had to push my pregnant self back up because I was…you guessed it, throwing up. 

Shaun was actually a very easy birth, once he decided to emerge.  I actually had to squeeze him in to make sure he didn’t come flying out since the doctor wasn’t there yet.  Once the doctor was there, it only took about 2-3 pushes.  Shaun did not have an afro; however, he did have hair. 

You know up until the time you deliver your baby, the focus is on you?  That CLEARLY changes once you have your baby.  I remember doing the “dance of the clean your nether regions” in the hospital.  I am sure you remember this, those of you who are mothers.  It is an entire “dance” of movements and motions after you go to the bathroom.  It felt like a 20 minute ordeal at times.  Of course, Shaun was in the hospital room so nobody cared about me and my “dance of the nether region.”  At least not until I started crying hysterically because the pad I had.  Let me rephrase this, the mattress pad they gave me fell to the floor.  It was like a “are you kidding me” moment.  It wasn’t until this time people realized I wasn’t in the room.  Not really, but that is what it felt like.

Here I am, 19 years later and still can visualize everything.  I can say I survived Shaun’s baby years, toddler years, elementary school years, and his teen years (barely).  I have to say, there is nothing better than looking at a little version of you, and he really is.  I should have known there would be tough times when I told Shaun, while in his crib, to never get teeth because his toothless smile was so cute.  Did he listen?  Of course not, he has a full set of choppers.  J

The Cadillac of Purchases

Today I birthed a cow.  How you ask, since number one I am NOT a cow, and number two it is physically impossible for a human to give birth to a cow.  Okay, so I didn’t birth a cow; however, I DID purchase contacts and glasses for the low, low price of $800!  Now do you see how I basically birthed a cow, since dropping $800 is also very painful?

Many years ago, when I was in 3^rd grade, I had my eyes checked in school like everyone else.  Well, guess what, I needed glasses.  My mom thought it was probably because everyone else in the family had glasses.  Turns out, I have the worst vision of EVERYONE in our family.  Yes, what a joy to have to wear glasses as a girl.  We aren’t talking about the cute glasses they have now.  Oh no, back then I got to sport coke bottle glasses that would slide down my nose because they were so heavy.  By the time I was in Jr. High, they were ridiculous!  Plus, you know the saying, “guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses” well I totally felt that.  Being the ugly duckling I felt I was, I would put my glasses in my back pocket.  Did they break?  Of course!  I was the queen of crazy gluing the frames back together.  Can I just add, the burning sensation in your eyes from the crazy glue was not a good time?

All my 80’s people probably remember Omni.  The BEST place to skate.  Again, my glasses would be in my pocket as I skated around.  Could I see anybody as I skated?  Nope.  Possibly a cute guy COULD have been waving me over to skate with him; however, I had no clue since I couldn’t see.  For all I know, I could have been skating with the guys for “all guys skate” because I couldn’t see!  Back then, the guys HAD long hair!  Good grief, I hope that didn’t happen.  I think my friends would have bailed me out if they saw me skating during “all guys skate.” 

It wasn’t until I was in 10^th grade that my parents bought me contact lenses.  Again, thank GOODNESS!  It is extremely hard to hold up your head with the glasses I had to wear.  If you were sweating?  Forget it.  The glasses would go down to my mouth, like a mouth guard.  My first set of contacts was gas permeable lenses.  Basically they were shards of glass in the shape of a circle you put in your eye.  And if anyone accidentally startled you?  Be prepared to spend at least a half an hour trying to get the lens out of your eye, which is now suctioned to the bottom part of your eye.  It’s like your eyeball has just seen a ghost and your eyeball is the one saying “EEEEKKKK!”  After the “EEEEKKKK” the contact drops and suctions to your eye.  After the suction would finally release, your eye was a beautiful shade of red.  Except for where the contact was suctioned, that part was white.  Good times.  Do I even have to tell you about when your contact chips?  The gas permeable lens was basically a torture device, in my eyes.  And yes, the torture device was in my eyes.  J   

So the Cadillac of purchases today was bifocals.  Yup, 42 with bifocals.  I can say this, at least with today’s glasses nobody will even know I have them because you cannot see the lines.  I am sulking about this huge purchase.  It pains me to drop this much on glasses and contacts.  Hopefully with the switch, I can now look at people without scowling at them.  I am sure many thought I was just a crabby pants when in all actuality, I couldn’t SEE them! J

Bat hearing

Aren't I the cutest thing?

Who is this a picture of, you may ask?  Why, that is me of course!  According to my son, I have the hearing of a bat.  Any little noise, I wake up.

Yes, this is me when I get woken up at night.  Not pretty.



Since apparently I am “bat like,” this is how I sleep.  When I hear noises, my eyes fly open and I hiss.  You can verify this with my son.  This bat like hearing of mine just didn’t start when I had my son.  I was like this when I was growing up, too.  My parents and brother enjoy the “white noise” thing.  Me, it is just plain noise in the middle of the night.  When I would hear my brother’s scanner in the middle of the night, the eyes would fly open and I would hiss.  I would open my door, creep into my brother’s room and turn off his radio.  Problem solved….until he would turn the scanner back on again and I would have to do the same thing.  I am lucky I EVER got sleep growing up!  Maybe that is why I am so short!  Sleep deprivation.  J

My bat like ears were just wonderful for family vacations when we all were in one room.  I believe I was the only “quiet” sleeper.  I would hear a snore, eyes would fly open, and I would hiss and then practically punch my dad in the arm to let him know he was snoring.  I believe I even went into the bathtub one time to get away from the serenade.  Nobody could feel my pain!  My mom would tell ME I was making all the noise.  Me, make noise?  Hard to believe I know since I am so quiet!

My parents could never understand why I wanted this silence.  They always tell the story of whenever they would get into their car they would get blasted into the back seat, complete with hair standing up, because the radio was up to the point of a speaker blowing.  My answer?  That was different…I wasn’t trying to sleep behind the wheel of the car.

What brought this all up today was my son came home around 3:30 a.m. (have to clarify it is the a.m., not p.m.).  Again, my eyes flew open and I hissed.  Good grief, the light was on in the kitchen and I heard talking!  Due to the modern convenience of a cell phone, I didn’t have to show my fangs to my son.  All I had to do was mad text him.  The conversation?  “Do you realize it is 3:30 in the morning?  Not only do I see a light on, which hurts my Dracula eyes, but I hear whispers, which hurt my delicate bat ears!  There will BE NO WHISPERING or LIGHTS ON at 3:30 in the morning!  Do you want me to melt?”  Okay, so maybe that is a little of an exaggeration; however, I did mad text him to SHUT UP.

So as I sit out here on my porch this morning listening to the birds chirping and the geese honking, I am glad they are day creatures.  I would hate to have to spread my bat wings and hiss at the creatures to be quiet. Possibly even have the neighbors call the police due to a crazy woman running around their neighborhood flapping her “bat wings” and hissing. J

Tracks

I love this picture.  It reminds me of the movie Stand by Me.  No cares in the world, just walking with your friends.  This is a picture of my son with two of his friends.  The photographer of this picture has been friends with my son since the age of 3.  Basically, all of these kids have grown up together.  They have played together, hung around together, and even cried together at the loss of one of their good friends.  These friends were only on this earth approximately 16 years when they had to deal with one of life’s most painful experiences.  This is hard to deal with as an adult, but how about dealing with this as a teenager?  Quite a derailment.  One of my son’s friends said to me, “I want it to stay this way all the time.  I don’t want to grow apart or stop talking to Shaun or anybody else.”  My response to him was, “Sometimes it happens. However, every person plays their part.  I still talk to good friends I was in high school with.  Are we as close as we were in high school?  No, but we still get together, and that is a great feeling.”

Life is not about walking down one track.  As we all know, we all grow up and start traveling down different tracks.  You don’t ever think this will happen, but usually it does.  In elementary school, you are with the same kids for seven years.  The thought never crosses your mind that your circle of friends will break and you will start traveling down different tracks.  My circle of friends in elementary school was totally different than the friends I made in high school.  And you know what?  That’s ok.  In order to grow as a person, you need to sometimes pull the switch on your tracks and join with another set.  It is here that you get to experience life in many different ways. 

I am happy with the tracks that I have traveled on. J

Yang

I came home from work this afternoon with dishes up the yang.  How much is a yang, you might ask?  If you can’t count the number of something using both hands, this is a yang.  As you can probably guess, there were more than 10 dishes in the sink.  How is it, nobody notices this “yang” but me?  Could it be the people in my house think we are playing a game of dish Jenga to see how many plates can be stacked before they all crash to the floor?  I guarantee I would lose this game of dish Jenga and would have to watch all the dishes crash to the floor.  Of course I would be talking to these dishes as they are in pieces on the floor, just like I do the Tupperware, and asking the dishes, “really?”  I don’t know why I talk to the dishes; I mean talking to the dishes is like talking to my 19-year old.

Not only did I come home to a yang of dishes, but it is also garbage night.  You guessed it, a yang of garbage.  My son has lived in this house the same amount of years as me and STILL has to have an essay written to him regarding taking out the garbage.  If no essay has been written, no garbage is taken out.  Noticing my son was not home and not wanting to have to deal with hauling the trash out in the morning, I pulled the yang of garbage cans out to the street.  Huffing and puffing along the way, because the men in my house seem to think it is ok to put 60 lbs of garbage in each container, I trudge to the curb.  Sure, why not overstuff the cans?  They aren’t the ones dragging it to the street.  The part I really love is when you go over the bump in the driveway and the 60 lbs of garbage topples out of the can.  Now starts the garbage ballet dance.  I am sure you have done this: bend, swoop, pick, and toss.  If you really want to get fancy, add a plie in there for good measure.

One of these days when I come home from work, I am actually going to do something that I want to do.  Oh who am I kidding, I will be looking at the yang of dishes tomorrow and doing the garbage dance again next week.

New dance partner

Everything I do is like a dance.  On Friday, it was the dance with the vacuum.  My vacuum and I like to move around the floors, all the while getting tangled in the hose and the cord.  I am the queen of running over the cord.  I have run over my vacuum cord so many times, electrical tape is wrapped around most of the cord.  Apparently, between me and the cord, we don’t know who is supposed to lead in the vacuum dance.  You would think that after being run over so many times, the cord would give up and let me lead.

After our dance on Friday, my vacuum decided it had finally had enough.  Me, being me, I kept pumping on the pedal to make it go on.  After pumping the pedal, I started slamming the pedal because if pumping the pedal wasn’t working, surely slamming the thing would make it turn on.  No such luck.  Alas, the dance with my vacuum was over.

So, it was time to find a new dance partner.  Instead of an upright, I decided on a partner I could drag around behind me.  But this particular vacuum tells you how bad you are….not at dancing but at vacuuming.  The vacuum has sensor lights; green means you rock and red means you better continue because you stink at this. So instead of me waltzing around like I used to, this vacuum won’t allow me to do this.  It’s like this vacuum is the leader for the dance.  I have to go slowly until the vacuum thinks I am ready for the next step.  This vacuum is as serious as Max on Dancing With the Stars!!

I guess I will let my new dance partner lead the way around the house.  Apparently the vacuum knows how to do its job.  Now, if only I can have a sensor button to let me know when I am about to slam into the wall.