As a friendly and courteous person I tend to hold the door for people whenever possible. Sometimes I go way out of my way to do so. Whether you are a stranger or friend, I feel it is a simple way to make a friendly gesture.
Usually I am thanked with words or a smile. Even a simple glance of recognition would suffice. But there have been a few occasions where I have held open a door for a stranger to have them just walk through as if the door was held open by the power of their amazing mind. Not a thank you, not a smile, not even eye contact.
When this happens I usually figure I can say something smart ass and they wont even notice seeing how they are so involved in their own world that they cant acknowledge a kind gesture. Sometimes I pretend that I was thanked in an overly grateful manner and reply with an overly appreciated response. "Oh, no problemo Mam, you are very welcome!" and I smile really big as to imply my sarcasm. As if the bitchy tone wasn't enough.
If you know me well, you know that I love to hate people and enjoy it greatly when they give me a reason to despise them. Whenever my hate is justified, I milk it.
When I lived near Manhattan, this happened a lot. There are a lot of people to hate in such a densely populated area. I would regularly take a trip to this little organic grocery store in Greenwich Village that sells these awesome chai tea hard candies. Unfortunately, this area is also a breeding ground for rich, snobby, overly trendy, girls who look like Paris Hilton's closet barfed all over them.
They would stand in front of the magazine stand outside the market with their small ugly dogs, reading trash magazines while text messaging and listening to their IPods.
I often wished a horrible and painful death upon them and their beloved pets but sometimes I felt bad for assuming someone sucks as a person just from looking at them.
Lucky for me, my hate was justified when I got stuck holding the door for these bitches while they trotted past me without notice of my kindness. Lucky for them, the chai tea candies really calmed my nerves.
January 22, 2010
Is That a F&*@ing Grape!?
I LOVE LOVE LOVE ARBY'S!!! I first discovered Arby's and their fabulous curly fries as a Sophomore in high school and about 20 lb. lighter than I am today. I then went on to realize that I preferred my beef and cheddar sandwich's in pairs and without the BBQ sauce. I treated myself almost weekly to their jalepeno poppers and horsey sauce. Then, while living in NJ, I suffered from a severe addiction to the Chicken cordon bleu sandwich. This ordeal made me reinstate my no fast food rule for the 27th time that year. Then, about 2 weeks ago, I discovered Arby's Market Fresh Chicken Salad Sandwich! Surely an exception could be made for such a wonderful treat. I am not even sure if this sandwich of the market fresh variety can be considered "fast food." Yeah, You could have this item handed to you through a small window while you sit in your running car listening to your favorite musical tune, but the fast food rule must have a "not fried" clause or a "wheat bread" loophole. I quickly rethought my diet rules and decided to purchase one of these chickeny, lettucey, delights. I fell fast. I fell hard. I never looked back. Finally, last Saturday night, my boyfriend introduced me to the chicken salad WRAP! It might not have been such a good idea on his part seeing how from then on he has had some pretty steep competition for my love and devotion.
As I was devouring this wonderful treat I couldn't help but to tear up. Along with the normal chicken and mayo, I bit into apples, walnuts, and grapes. Yes, Grapes. It is safe to say that I am border-lined obsessed and you may find me passed out in a vat of this concoction on any given day ... except Tuesday. That's Magic Meat night. I will not go into detail on this delight because I don't want you scavengers getting in on this wonderful occasion. As for the Arby's chicken salad, I can share the wealth. But if I see you in line at Arby's I will point to the window and ask "Is that a guy pooping on your car?" Then I will steal your spot in line so quick that you will swear that I was some sort of mythical creature.
I Want a Quacking Asian Girl
I don't hate people.
Sometimes I say that I hate people, but I don't really.
Some people are just so ignorant and unaware, that it is hard to ignore.
Thanks to my job, I have an abnormal amount of confrontations with idiots and I am often exposed to annoying people in large groups.
Mobs of ignorance.
I am forced to place myself into situations that breed ignorance and cause annoyance. I am exposed to people that I can't relate to. But I am grateful for that because it has given me a unique perspective on certain personalities.
I am talking about women. I love women. I am a woman. I understand myself as a woman. But I can't stand most of the women that I have to be exposed to and converse with on a regular basis. There are a few exceptions, of course. There are many woman that I am acquainted with that I admire greatly. But this blog is not about them. This blog is about the very wealthy, middle-aged, married, stay-at-home moms that display such rude behavior and disregard for others that makes other normal woman look like crazy bitches.
Many women like me get a dose of this rare breed of idiot once in a while. The kind of woman who thinks that she is better than everyone and wants everyone else to think it too. The kind of woman that is self involved and unaware of her surroundings. The kind of woman that rolls her eyes and obviously judges other moms or caregivers and their children. The kind of woman that whispers and gossips about other peoples families or brags about her new designer shower fixtures and counter tops. The kind of woman that passes her rudeness down to her children so that they can continue the cycle.
What is worse is when you get them all in a group. You schedule a neighborhood play group or community story time at the local library. This is where you find the women that bring their children to these settings so that they can get the chance to mingle and gossip with others like them. It is a spectacle. It is a big ball of oblivion, ignorance, and narcissism.
Today, I took AJ to the library for "Toddler Time".
We have been there before with AJ's buddy, Lance, and his Mom.
Lance's Mom is cool and she is a good Mom so I admire her.
But Lance and his Mom are out of town so I was alone to face the madness. When I got there I was informed that the "Baby Time" and the "Toddler Time" were going to be one big combined event today. The usual group of 7-10 kids had doubled and the mob of moms had increased as well. I was overwhelmed but I convinced myself that I would see something funny or hear some gossip that I could blog about.
So we proceeded into the children's area. AJ and I cautiously walked into the large, open, square room of children ages 6 months to 4 years old. The older kids sat huddled together in front of a large woman in a small stool that looked as though it was made for a toddler or supposed to be used as a stepping stool. They sat with their legs crossed and their tiny heads tilted up toward a book about ducks. Some of the younger kids sat burrowed in their mothers laps or strapped into stroller's exhausting themselves with attempts at freedom.
The mood was hectic.
A mixture of emotions.
Some kids were quiet and attentive. Some were obnoxious and hyper. Some were cranky and tired. Most of the adults were considerate and conscientious.
I noticed about three cliques and a few scattered adults here and there. One group was made up of four mothers who had adopted their daughters from Asian countries. Immediately, I wanted to join this group because I was impressed with the fact that these parents had gone through the adoption process and I wanted the scoop but AJ took my hand and pulled me to a spot on the outside of this group and next to two grandmother's with their grandson's and a younger, single Mom who had decided to spend her only day off that week with her daughter and her niece. We formed our own group of people who had taken this story time as an opportunity to bond with our children and teach them how to behave socially.
We all noticed one of the women in the adjacent group was very inconsiderate and unaware of how her chatter was distorting the voice of the storyteller. She talked about herself and didn't do much listening when the other Mom's spoke. In between stories about the horrible conditions she saved her child from in China and bragging about how she had designed her bedroom with a pink and yellow color scheme, she would glance over at her daughter and scold her for various miniscule misbehaviors that continued once she turned back around toward the clique.
AJ sat snuggled in my lap, making sure my arms were tight around him while trying hard to listen to the story about a duck who couldn't quack. He tried hard to hear over the quacking of the woman next to us. He was overwhelmed.
We slowly inched closer to the group of children and I gradually moved him from my lap and into the group. He started to play with a cute little Asian girl that was close to his age. He began to show her how his shoes have two red lights that blink when he stomps his feet. Then he took his shoes off and handed them to me so I took them from him and pretended to put them on my feet. AJ and the little girl giggled and then turned their attention back to the story.
I was admiring the way the story teller impersonated a duck when I hear a loud, stern, voice say "No! Maddy, NO! You may NOT take your shoes off too."
It was the chatter box from the clique next to me. She turned to me and said "See, since you let your son take his shoes off, now she wants to take her's off". I noticed the bitchy look on her face but decided to kill her with kindness as I smiled and said, "Yeah, its the copy cat factor. Pretty soon, there will be 40 bare feet in the room." She rolled her eyes and pulled Maddy into her lap. She buckled her sandals securely and said to her "Some people don't understand consideration for others, Maddy. You always keep your shoes on in public, even if the other kid decides he doesn't have to wear his shoes". She said this to her daughter but it was obviously intended for my ears.
If I was their with my own child, I would have said something to her but I was there as a Nanny and many of the people there knew the family I work for. So I ignored her and continued to observe the children.
AJ and Maddy lost interest in each other and AJ moved to stand behind me as he played with my pony tail. I smiled to myself as Maddy took her sandals off once more and started imitating a duck, quacking and waddling around with such accuracy and creativity. I watched her with adoration as she sat next to another little girl and asked her her name. She scooted closer to her and put arm around her shoulders as her Mom continued to yap about her neighbors loud dogs.
Maddy's Mom didn't notice her bare feet or how her own voice echoed over the sound of the children's excitement as the duck in the story finally learned to quack. She also didn't notice that her daughter had a great personality despite the example she had to learn from. She just finished her bragging and turned back around to discipline her daughter for taking her shoes off again. She scooped her up and said firmly, "We have to leave now, since you can't behave properly in public places today".
Talk about hypocrisy.
Talk about oblivion.
Some people need to be punched... hard... in the mouth.
Sometimes I say that I hate people, but I don't really.
Some people are just so ignorant and unaware, that it is hard to ignore.
Thanks to my job, I have an abnormal amount of confrontations with idiots and I am often exposed to annoying people in large groups.
Mobs of ignorance.
I am forced to place myself into situations that breed ignorance and cause annoyance. I am exposed to people that I can't relate to. But I am grateful for that because it has given me a unique perspective on certain personalities.
I am talking about women. I love women. I am a woman. I understand myself as a woman. But I can't stand most of the women that I have to be exposed to and converse with on a regular basis. There are a few exceptions, of course. There are many woman that I am acquainted with that I admire greatly. But this blog is not about them. This blog is about the very wealthy, middle-aged, married, stay-at-home moms that display such rude behavior and disregard for others that makes other normal woman look like crazy bitches.
Many women like me get a dose of this rare breed of idiot once in a while. The kind of woman who thinks that she is better than everyone and wants everyone else to think it too. The kind of woman that is self involved and unaware of her surroundings. The kind of woman that rolls her eyes and obviously judges other moms or caregivers and their children. The kind of woman that whispers and gossips about other peoples families or brags about her new designer shower fixtures and counter tops. The kind of woman that passes her rudeness down to her children so that they can continue the cycle.
What is worse is when you get them all in a group. You schedule a neighborhood play group or community story time at the local library. This is where you find the women that bring their children to these settings so that they can get the chance to mingle and gossip with others like them. It is a spectacle. It is a big ball of oblivion, ignorance, and narcissism.
Today, I took AJ to the library for "Toddler Time".
We have been there before with AJ's buddy, Lance, and his Mom.
Lance's Mom is cool and she is a good Mom so I admire her.
But Lance and his Mom are out of town so I was alone to face the madness. When I got there I was informed that the "Baby Time" and the "Toddler Time" were going to be one big combined event today. The usual group of 7-10 kids had doubled and the mob of moms had increased as well. I was overwhelmed but I convinced myself that I would see something funny or hear some gossip that I could blog about.
So we proceeded into the children's area. AJ and I cautiously walked into the large, open, square room of children ages 6 months to 4 years old. The older kids sat huddled together in front of a large woman in a small stool that looked as though it was made for a toddler or supposed to be used as a stepping stool. They sat with their legs crossed and their tiny heads tilted up toward a book about ducks. Some of the younger kids sat burrowed in their mothers laps or strapped into stroller's exhausting themselves with attempts at freedom.
The mood was hectic.
A mixture of emotions.
Some kids were quiet and attentive. Some were obnoxious and hyper. Some were cranky and tired. Most of the adults were considerate and conscientious.
I noticed about three cliques and a few scattered adults here and there. One group was made up of four mothers who had adopted their daughters from Asian countries. Immediately, I wanted to join this group because I was impressed with the fact that these parents had gone through the adoption process and I wanted the scoop but AJ took my hand and pulled me to a spot on the outside of this group and next to two grandmother's with their grandson's and a younger, single Mom who had decided to spend her only day off that week with her daughter and her niece. We formed our own group of people who had taken this story time as an opportunity to bond with our children and teach them how to behave socially.
We all noticed one of the women in the adjacent group was very inconsiderate and unaware of how her chatter was distorting the voice of the storyteller. She talked about herself and didn't do much listening when the other Mom's spoke. In between stories about the horrible conditions she saved her child from in China and bragging about how she had designed her bedroom with a pink and yellow color scheme, she would glance over at her daughter and scold her for various miniscule misbehaviors that continued once she turned back around toward the clique.
AJ sat snuggled in my lap, making sure my arms were tight around him while trying hard to listen to the story about a duck who couldn't quack. He tried hard to hear over the quacking of the woman next to us. He was overwhelmed.
We slowly inched closer to the group of children and I gradually moved him from my lap and into the group. He started to play with a cute little Asian girl that was close to his age. He began to show her how his shoes have two red lights that blink when he stomps his feet. Then he took his shoes off and handed them to me so I took them from him and pretended to put them on my feet. AJ and the little girl giggled and then turned their attention back to the story.
I was admiring the way the story teller impersonated a duck when I hear a loud, stern, voice say "No! Maddy, NO! You may NOT take your shoes off too."
It was the chatter box from the clique next to me. She turned to me and said "See, since you let your son take his shoes off, now she wants to take her's off". I noticed the bitchy look on her face but decided to kill her with kindness as I smiled and said, "Yeah, its the copy cat factor. Pretty soon, there will be 40 bare feet in the room." She rolled her eyes and pulled Maddy into her lap. She buckled her sandals securely and said to her "Some people don't understand consideration for others, Maddy. You always keep your shoes on in public, even if the other kid decides he doesn't have to wear his shoes". She said this to her daughter but it was obviously intended for my ears.
If I was their with my own child, I would have said something to her but I was there as a Nanny and many of the people there knew the family I work for. So I ignored her and continued to observe the children.
AJ and Maddy lost interest in each other and AJ moved to stand behind me as he played with my pony tail. I smiled to myself as Maddy took her sandals off once more and started imitating a duck, quacking and waddling around with such accuracy and creativity. I watched her with adoration as she sat next to another little girl and asked her her name. She scooted closer to her and put arm around her shoulders as her Mom continued to yap about her neighbors loud dogs.
Maddy's Mom didn't notice her bare feet or how her own voice echoed over the sound of the children's excitement as the duck in the story finally learned to quack. She also didn't notice that her daughter had a great personality despite the example she had to learn from. She just finished her bragging and turned back around to discipline her daughter for taking her shoes off again. She scooped her up and said firmly, "We have to leave now, since you can't behave properly in public places today".
Talk about hypocrisy.
Talk about oblivion.
Some people need to be punched... hard... in the mouth.
Beach Fun
It was just before noon on Saturday when my sister, Kris, and I arrived at the beach across from Patrick Air Force Base. We pulled into the parking lot and sighed at the jam of cars in the way of the entrance. A large SUV had temporarily parked in the traffic circle, blocking the flow of traffic, to unload about twenty tiki torches for a wedding or some other kind of ceremony. I never saw a bride or a groom so it could have been a Bar Mitzvah for all I knew... or cared.
Kris abruptly maneuvered her small SUV around three cars and a woman in a wheel chair and pulled into the only visible parking spot. We didn't realize the lack of parking spots until we got out of the car. Kris smiled at our good luck and fortune. I, on the other hand, gave all the credit to her pushiness and impatience which made me worry that the force of Karma would make our departure almost impossible by draining the car battery or by giving us a flat tire.
After being hit on by a man with a severe shortage of teeth, we met Clarissa at the restrooms, which had no doors what so ever. It took a bit of courage, team work, and good timing but we managed to use the facilities uninterrupted.
Kris abruptly maneuvered her small SUV around three cars and a woman in a wheel chair and pulled into the only visible parking spot. We didn't realize the lack of parking spots until we got out of the car. Kris smiled at our good luck and fortune. I, on the other hand, gave all the credit to her pushiness and impatience which made me worry that the force of Karma would make our departure almost impossible by draining the car battery or by giving us a flat tire.
After being hit on by a man with a severe shortage of teeth, we met Clarissa at the restrooms, which had no doors what so ever. It took a bit of courage, team work, and good timing but we managed to use the facilities uninterrupted.
I buried my toes in the warm grainy sand as we walked to meet Clarissa's sister, daughter, and nephew by the shore. The temperature was pleasantly warm and the sun was so bright that I could feel my serotonin level increasing rapidly. I took a long, deep breath of the salty breeze and felt my spirit fill with enchantment. The sounds on the beach were so different than what I was used to. The breeze carried the voices from people a hundred feet away and filled my ear drums with crashes of waves and military aircraft. It was almost deafening but I didn't mind the change.
Kris and I carefully placed our old, cheap, beach chairs in the hot sand. The previous summer we had named these same chairs "the concussion chairs" in honor of their lack of stability, especially when pushed backward by a sibling's trickery. We stripped down to our bikinis and lathered ourselves in tanning oil. I pulled a cold beer from the cooler and passed it to my sister as I sat down to soak up the rays of sunlight.
In between three shared beers and a few single serving red wine bottles, we stuffed our faces with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fruit snacks. We sat lazily and stared amusingly at a semi obese woman in a string bikini who was dancing to "My Humps" a few feet away. As the empty bottles gathered in the sand, our semi-tasteful conversations turned into giggly stories about menstrual cramps, sharts, penis size, and the sexual abilities of our mates. Our lack of inhibition wasn't solely due to our blood alcohol levels. I assure you, we were in equally vulgar company.
I imagined the beach as one big blanket of sand with a hundred small rooms with invisible walls. It appeared as a grid in my mind. Each room filled with various groups of friends or families and crowded with a plethora of oddity. These groups consisted of several tourists and teenagers sprinkled with your all american freako.
A group of people behind us had clearly spent most of their lives with pipes in their mouths and straws up their nostrils. A woman's skinny body laid lifeless on a beach towel while three scruffy men men flirted with passing females by flashing them coercing looks and rotten smiles.
About twenty feet in front of us was a small family who, obvious to me, had not visited the beach very often, if at all, before that day. An old, frail, man who appeared to be in his sixties sat on a tee shirt next to meek woman who was at least twenty five years younger than him. She was wearing a gray sports bra and cotton shorts that reached her knees. When she turned around, I noticed that she was missing her two front teeth. I laughed and thought of the absurd amount of people with bad oral hygiene on that beach.
In front of the couple sat a skinny, pale, blonde haired boy who looked about four or five years old. I disappeared into thought as I imagined a background story for the family.
She was a single Mom from West Virginia and the old man was her estranged father who lived in Bithlo. The woman and her son had taken their first ever plane trip down to Florida the night before to visit her long lost kin (as the woman would surely refer to him as). They had decided to take the boy on a day trip to the beach since he had never seen the ocean before. The boys name was Bubba Joe Junior.
The story I made up was a pleasant and encouraging story about self discovery and the importance of family. Little did I know then that my story would have a disturbing chapter that would almost surely make me mentally rewrite the whole plot.
With liquid courage up to our eyeballs, Clarissa, Kris, and I decided to venture down to the water and into the cold, choppy, ocean. As we stood up, we all let out simultaneous gasps as Clarissa's one-year-old nephew fell face first into the sand. Our shock turned to laughter as the chubby cheeked toddler sat up and chuckled at our reactions. His face was covered in sand and drool so his mom scooped him up to be cleaned and the three of us stumbled down to the water.
We walked towards the characters of my mental play splashing about and sitting in the edge of the water. The closer we got the more we noticed the sound of hysterical crying and pleading. We investigated the cries and discovered the old man angrily splashing BJ Jr. in the face while his mother held him down in the wet sand. The boys ghostly complexion had turned beet red and his cries were filled with frightened pleas for escape.
We were trying to convince ourselves that we didn't have to interfere when we witnessed the old man grabbing the boys head and smacking him in the face repeatedly. He was yelling and cursing at him to shut up and stop crying. The woman looked very uncomfortable as she tightly held the boy's skinny limbs against her body. The boy continued to cry as he coughed up salt water in between gasps for air. The awkward woman just sat there, stone faced, and did as she was instructed to do. Our shock at the situation was very noticeable. Suddenly, playing in the ocean didn't seem like much fun to us. We didn't know what to do. I had never seen this kind of bizarre and disturbing behavior in such a public place and I was usually one to avoid budding in to another's business. We knew the old man's sanity pool was shallow or possibly empty and that's what made us return to the safety of our four invisible walls.
Without a hint of hesitation or delay, my sister reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone to call the police. We sat and discussed the incident as the old man instructed the woman to take the child back up to the sand while he stayed in the ocean to play in the crashing waves.
Within five minutes, two men in military uniforms appeared on the boardwalk. My sister walked up to them and explained the situation while she pointed out the culprit. One of the men questioned the old man while the other pulled the woman and boy aside for questioning. It seemed as though they were denying it but we couldn't hear anything. We doubted that they knew we were the ones to call the police until one of the men walked up to us and asked us to make a witness statement. We quickly agreed and waited for the man to call the Cocoa Police to finish questioning the old man.
While we waited, I thought to myself about the situation and wondered if we had done the right thing. Clarissa and her sister being parents, I knew that they gave our actions no further thought and probably wondered if we could have done something sooner. Me, being a Nanny, made the internal questioning of our actions relatively brief. What this Man was doing was wrong and everyone knew it.
It was getting late and the sun had absorbed all of my energy while my blood alcohol level returned to normal. I had to go home and get ready for MMB (MidnightMadnessBrevard.com) so Clarissa agreed to take my sister home after they had given their statements to the police. I slowly walked to the hot car, climbed in and started to drive home.
The memory of the boy's flushed face and tearful cries entered my thoughts between flashes of toothless people and the half naked obese woman. I was exhausted, hungry, and very disappointed with my tan but at least I felt grateful for my reasonably sane parents and my knowledge of the importance of good dental hygiene.
This Little Piggy
According to the formidable buzz of my alarm clock, it was 7:30am. Judging by the distinct silence and darkness of my modest 8'x6' basement room, my guess, even with my early morning grogginess, would've been that I still had a few more hours of dormancy before I had to grovel from my twin sized bed. I had been in such a deep peaceful sleep that the dreadful sound of the alarm flustered me. I was so confused that I reached toward my nightstand and tried to answer my phone and then I started to smack everything within in my reach that had a button or a knob... or a pulse. The elderly house cat, Tigre, who was too deaf to hear the alarm, was not pleased with my disoriented physical urgency.
I hadn't heard the drone of my alarm since the previous winter when a snowstorm came through in the early morning. During the storm, the lack of sunlight had prevented the boys from waking up at their usual early morning hour. Thus preventing them from unintentionally awakening me from my slumber an hour before I had originally intended. But it was the middle of summer so I knew it was not a snowstorm that had caused the lack of early morning sunlight. I got out of bed, apologized to Tigre, and gazed out of my tiny rectangular window. I was semi pleased to see several dark clouds and pulsing puddles. The darkness from the storm had meant that the twin boys that I nannied for were still asleep and I had gotten my desired eight hours of sleep for the first time in months.
Technically, during the summer, when the boys were out of school, I wasn't expected to work until 8am. But on a normal sunny day, the twins woke me up before seven by racing down the loud wooden steps and into the TV room which, regrettably, was directly above my bedroom in the basement. In retrospect, I probably should have gotten paid time and a half for having to deal with the noise and bothersome static of the television when I was not on duty. But I guess that is one of the negative side effects that the perks counteract when you have such an abnormal career. I guess what bothered me, when I was in a tired and pissy mood, was that the actual parental unit was sound asleep in their third floor master bedroom suite while I laid in my tiny dungeon of a room listening to the fruit of their loins argue over the remote.
Sometimes I thought that they had purposely designed the layout of their house to assure that they would get their money's worth when writing me a check at the end of each week. Why should they have to get up early or interrupt their careers to pour milk in their kid's cocoa puffs when they had a nanny that was already awake, standing on her bed, and banging on her ceiling, yelling at the kids to turn the volume down on "Pokemon?"
It was the second week of July and my last week as a New Jersey Nanny. Kayleigh, the new nanny from Ohio, was overlapping with me for a few days before I headed back to Florida. Together we were the ultimate Nanny duo. We managed the children's summer activities, made sure they were safe, and fed them three meals a day, all while having a great time.
I went into the living area of my "nanny quarters" to wake Kayleigh up but she was already dressed and ready to go. I stood there in my mismatched pajamas combing through my knotted hair with my fingers and explained to her the boys activities for the day. She went upstairs to get the boys out of bed and force them to brush their teeth, which surely had fuzz growing on them by now. It was a Monday and I knew that the kids hadn't touched there toothbrush since Friday morning. They had the undoubtedly powerful skill to manipulate and take advantage of everyone except me and their Grandmother so I knew that their Mom and Dad just took their word for it when they told them that they had brushed, flossed, and polished their tiny baby teeth every night that I wasn't on duty.
I went into the kitchen and prepared breakfast and packed some lunch for later. On that rainy New Jersey morning, the boy's schedule included morning swim lessons. From my experience the previous summer, I knew that almost nothing could cancel swim lessons. It would take severe lightning to delay them but they would always continue once the storm passed and you hardly ever saw lightning in New Jersey. From my experience with the twin's mother, I knew that if she paid for something, she was going to get the most of it, even if it meant sticking her miserable sons in an icy pool of water while it was pouring down rain.
Kayleigh and I packed a swim bag and drove the two whining boys to the community pool where we were met by a long line of Nanny's with umbrellas in one hand and the hand of a pissed off kid in the other. I was not surprised to see so many kids whose parents were willing to put their kids through the suffering of such an uncomfortable swim lesson. I was all too familiar with the odd ways of Westfield, New Jersey. The pressure was always on every parent and child to be good at everything, all the time. Even if it meant that the kids would despise something that was meant to be a fun learning experience. The kids needed to do everything like everyone else in order for their parents to be accepted socially. The priorities were all screwed up in that town and sometimes the nannies were the only residents who noticed.
I'm sure that the cold and rainy weather along with the icy water was the least of the kid's worries. The stormy weather had exuded an eerie presence upon the day that would discourage almost anyone. To a five-year-old who couldn't swim, the pool was already a scary place to be and now it was dark and rainy. I was sure that, to them, the pool seemed like a haunted pit of venemous snakes, ready to bite. For the boy's sake, I prayed for lightning, but it never came. The boy's stood by my side and looked up at me in hope that I would wrap them in their Scooby-doo beach towels and take them to Chuck E. Cheese for the afternoon. But as a Nanny, I had to ask myself what their parent's would do, so I gave them each a guilty hug and pointed them in the direction of thier teenage swim instructors.
The wind picked up and the drops of rain continued to get bigger as Kayleigh and I sat under a large canopy cuddling together under two beach towels. The kids swam, with the help of floats, out of our sight and into the deep end of the pool. A few minutes later, just as we were explaining to each other the weird feeling that the weather had given us, a loud whistle blew followed by several more whistles, followed by a stampede of lifeguards heading toward the pools. This happened once in while when the lifeguards were practicing safety drills but I knew something was wrong when the mantience worker yelled for someone to call an ambulance.
The thought of twelve five-year-olds with hypothermia crossed my mind and I immediately sprinted near the deep end to check on the twins. I was relieved to see the boy's sitting on the edge of the pool, a little scared, but safe. All the lifeguards had ran up to the diving pool and huddled around a young female lifeguard. With all the confusion, the kids were very curious about what had happened to the girl. I calmly distracted them and warmed their shivering blue bodies while Kayliegh carefully investigated the scene.
From what I could see at the time, the girl was conscious but crying in agony. I heard someone say "Put them on ice so they can be reattached." Hearing that made my stomach hurt and my appendages tingle. Kayleigh returned and whispered to me that the dive pool had a lowered drain grate with tiny holes in it. Apparently, the young lifeguard was walking on the grate and stuck her toes in the holes, then she slipped and fell into the pool, breaking two of her toes off in the fall. A nearby lifeguard blew his whistle and jumped in to drag the girl to the edge of the pool where her two bloody toes were still in the grate.
The ambulance came and several paramedics took over the rescue efforts. A short time later, the shaken lifeguards returned to their posts, closed their umbrellas, and announced the continuation of the swim lessons. After all, there was no lightning that they could see. The boys gazed up and at me with concern. Their blue shivering lips and sad eyes made me reconsider the "What would mommy do?" rule. I looked down at my toes, grateful that they were still attached to my feet then grabbed the boy's tiny frozen hands and dragged them to the warm showers before asking "Who wants to go to Chuck E. Cheese?"
I hadn't heard the drone of my alarm since the previous winter when a snowstorm came through in the early morning. During the storm, the lack of sunlight had prevented the boys from waking up at their usual early morning hour. Thus preventing them from unintentionally awakening me from my slumber an hour before I had originally intended. But it was the middle of summer so I knew it was not a snowstorm that had caused the lack of early morning sunlight. I got out of bed, apologized to Tigre, and gazed out of my tiny rectangular window. I was semi pleased to see several dark clouds and pulsing puddles. The darkness from the storm had meant that the twin boys that I nannied for were still asleep and I had gotten my desired eight hours of sleep for the first time in months.
Technically, during the summer, when the boys were out of school, I wasn't expected to work until 8am. But on a normal sunny day, the twins woke me up before seven by racing down the loud wooden steps and into the TV room which, regrettably, was directly above my bedroom in the basement. In retrospect, I probably should have gotten paid time and a half for having to deal with the noise and bothersome static of the television when I was not on duty. But I guess that is one of the negative side effects that the perks counteract when you have such an abnormal career. I guess what bothered me, when I was in a tired and pissy mood, was that the actual parental unit was sound asleep in their third floor master bedroom suite while I laid in my tiny dungeon of a room listening to the fruit of their loins argue over the remote.
Sometimes I thought that they had purposely designed the layout of their house to assure that they would get their money's worth when writing me a check at the end of each week. Why should they have to get up early or interrupt their careers to pour milk in their kid's cocoa puffs when they had a nanny that was already awake, standing on her bed, and banging on her ceiling, yelling at the kids to turn the volume down on "Pokemon?"
It was the second week of July and my last week as a New Jersey Nanny. Kayleigh, the new nanny from Ohio, was overlapping with me for a few days before I headed back to Florida. Together we were the ultimate Nanny duo. We managed the children's summer activities, made sure they were safe, and fed them three meals a day, all while having a great time.
I went into the living area of my "nanny quarters" to wake Kayleigh up but she was already dressed and ready to go. I stood there in my mismatched pajamas combing through my knotted hair with my fingers and explained to her the boys activities for the day. She went upstairs to get the boys out of bed and force them to brush their teeth, which surely had fuzz growing on them by now. It was a Monday and I knew that the kids hadn't touched there toothbrush since Friday morning. They had the undoubtedly powerful skill to manipulate and take advantage of everyone except me and their Grandmother so I knew that their Mom and Dad just took their word for it when they told them that they had brushed, flossed, and polished their tiny baby teeth every night that I wasn't on duty.
I went into the kitchen and prepared breakfast and packed some lunch for later. On that rainy New Jersey morning, the boy's schedule included morning swim lessons. From my experience the previous summer, I knew that almost nothing could cancel swim lessons. It would take severe lightning to delay them but they would always continue once the storm passed and you hardly ever saw lightning in New Jersey. From my experience with the twin's mother, I knew that if she paid for something, she was going to get the most of it, even if it meant sticking her miserable sons in an icy pool of water while it was pouring down rain.
Kayleigh and I packed a swim bag and drove the two whining boys to the community pool where we were met by a long line of Nanny's with umbrellas in one hand and the hand of a pissed off kid in the other. I was not surprised to see so many kids whose parents were willing to put their kids through the suffering of such an uncomfortable swim lesson. I was all too familiar with the odd ways of Westfield, New Jersey. The pressure was always on every parent and child to be good at everything, all the time. Even if it meant that the kids would despise something that was meant to be a fun learning experience. The kids needed to do everything like everyone else in order for their parents to be accepted socially. The priorities were all screwed up in that town and sometimes the nannies were the only residents who noticed.
I'm sure that the cold and rainy weather along with the icy water was the least of the kid's worries. The stormy weather had exuded an eerie presence upon the day that would discourage almost anyone. To a five-year-old who couldn't swim, the pool was already a scary place to be and now it was dark and rainy. I was sure that, to them, the pool seemed like a haunted pit of venemous snakes, ready to bite. For the boy's sake, I prayed for lightning, but it never came. The boy's stood by my side and looked up at me in hope that I would wrap them in their Scooby-doo beach towels and take them to Chuck E. Cheese for the afternoon. But as a Nanny, I had to ask myself what their parent's would do, so I gave them each a guilty hug and pointed them in the direction of thier teenage swim instructors.
The wind picked up and the drops of rain continued to get bigger as Kayleigh and I sat under a large canopy cuddling together under two beach towels. The kids swam, with the help of floats, out of our sight and into the deep end of the pool. A few minutes later, just as we were explaining to each other the weird feeling that the weather had given us, a loud whistle blew followed by several more whistles, followed by a stampede of lifeguards heading toward the pools. This happened once in while when the lifeguards were practicing safety drills but I knew something was wrong when the mantience worker yelled for someone to call an ambulance.
The thought of twelve five-year-olds with hypothermia crossed my mind and I immediately sprinted near the deep end to check on the twins. I was relieved to see the boy's sitting on the edge of the pool, a little scared, but safe. All the lifeguards had ran up to the diving pool and huddled around a young female lifeguard. With all the confusion, the kids were very curious about what had happened to the girl. I calmly distracted them and warmed their shivering blue bodies while Kayliegh carefully investigated the scene.
From what I could see at the time, the girl was conscious but crying in agony. I heard someone say "Put them on ice so they can be reattached." Hearing that made my stomach hurt and my appendages tingle. Kayleigh returned and whispered to me that the dive pool had a lowered drain grate with tiny holes in it. Apparently, the young lifeguard was walking on the grate and stuck her toes in the holes, then she slipped and fell into the pool, breaking two of her toes off in the fall. A nearby lifeguard blew his whistle and jumped in to drag the girl to the edge of the pool where her two bloody toes were still in the grate.
The ambulance came and several paramedics took over the rescue efforts. A short time later, the shaken lifeguards returned to their posts, closed their umbrellas, and announced the continuation of the swim lessons. After all, there was no lightning that they could see. The boys gazed up and at me with concern. Their blue shivering lips and sad eyes made me reconsider the "What would mommy do?" rule. I looked down at my toes, grateful that they were still attached to my feet then grabbed the boy's tiny frozen hands and dragged them to the warm showers before asking "Who wants to go to Chuck E. Cheese?"
A Christmas Story
With this holiday season upon us, I would like to share a story with you from a Christmas long long ago.
It all started on a warm and muggy Florida day a month prior to the Christmas of 1998. To everyone in my family, except myself, it seemed to be a normal, ritualistic, cesspool of tradition and boredom but that year was going to be different for me because I had devised a plan to make my Mom think she was going insane and it was going to be a drawn out, enjoyable event, at least for me.
The day after Thanksgiving of each year, my Mom habitually unpacks her collections of Christmas decor and strategically redecorates the house to simulate the set of A Christmas Story, minus the leg lamp.
She hangs sparkling garland over the doorways, places snow globes on the end tables, puts Santa statues on the bookshelves, and replaces her everyday cookie jar and salt and pepper shakers with a more festive versions.
She has done the same thing, with the same decorations, every year since we moved into our house in 1992. It was this fact that made me so sure that it would mess with her head if things were suddenly misplaced and it would surely amuse the heck out of me to see her face when she noticed that the mistletoe was hung in the shower stall.
Each day I would carry out my genius plan to break up the holiday monotony. First, I kidnapped the porcelain Mrs.Clause from her perch next to Santa and placed her carefully under my bed. Then I hijacked Frosty The Snowman's top hat, which also served as the lid to a cookie jar, and hid it in my closet along with one of four reindeer place mats and several sentimental tree ornaments.
Her reactions were priceless as she discovered some of her beloved possessions had gone AWOL. To my surprise, my Mom immediately confronted me with the issue but I just played it cool while enjoying the confusion in her gaze.
It was a truly exciting and memorable time for me. Every day for a month I woke up looking forward to her random, sporadic, discoveries and statements, like, "I could have sworn that I hung my brass reindeer ornament in the front of the tree this year and where the heck is the top to the darn cookie jar?"
She continued to express her paranoia and confusion in ways that entertained me way more than they should have. On a few occasions she asked me if I thought she was going crazy or just getting old. She even went so far as snooping through my bedroom hoping to find evidence of my evil plan, but, by that time, I had already put the loot in various boxes and bags, wrapped them with poinsettia wrapping paper, labeled them To: Mom, Love: Jesus and placed them under the Christmas tree.
On Christmas morning, I waited until all of the presents had been exchanged and opened before I gave my Mom her gifts. Her expressions as she opened each package were ones of disbelief and annoyance. She ended up being quite amused, but only after she uttered her relief that she wasn't losing her mind. I redeemed myself by handing her a long envelope containing a gift certificate for a day at the spa. I figured she needed a little pampering after the stressful and confusing month she had suffered through.
I didn't feel too bad for playing such a cruel prank on my own Mom because I knew I had given my family the gift of an unexpected laugh that they could enjoy for years to come. Besides, I'm sure everyone was just relieved that I decided not to wrap the dog that year.
It all started on a warm and muggy Florida day a month prior to the Christmas of 1998. To everyone in my family, except myself, it seemed to be a normal, ritualistic, cesspool of tradition and boredom but that year was going to be different for me because I had devised a plan to make my Mom think she was going insane and it was going to be a drawn out, enjoyable event, at least for me.
The day after Thanksgiving of each year, my Mom habitually unpacks her collections of Christmas decor and strategically redecorates the house to simulate the set of A Christmas Story, minus the leg lamp.
She hangs sparkling garland over the doorways, places snow globes on the end tables, puts Santa statues on the bookshelves, and replaces her everyday cookie jar and salt and pepper shakers with a more festive versions.
She has done the same thing, with the same decorations, every year since we moved into our house in 1992. It was this fact that made me so sure that it would mess with her head if things were suddenly misplaced and it would surely amuse the heck out of me to see her face when she noticed that the mistletoe was hung in the shower stall.
Each day I would carry out my genius plan to break up the holiday monotony. First, I kidnapped the porcelain Mrs.Clause from her perch next to Santa and placed her carefully under my bed. Then I hijacked Frosty The Snowman's top hat, which also served as the lid to a cookie jar, and hid it in my closet along with one of four reindeer place mats and several sentimental tree ornaments.
Her reactions were priceless as she discovered some of her beloved possessions had gone AWOL. To my surprise, my Mom immediately confronted me with the issue but I just played it cool while enjoying the confusion in her gaze.
It was a truly exciting and memorable time for me. Every day for a month I woke up looking forward to her random, sporadic, discoveries and statements, like, "I could have sworn that I hung my brass reindeer ornament in the front of the tree this year and where the heck is the top to the darn cookie jar?"
She continued to express her paranoia and confusion in ways that entertained me way more than they should have. On a few occasions she asked me if I thought she was going crazy or just getting old. She even went so far as snooping through my bedroom hoping to find evidence of my evil plan, but, by that time, I had already put the loot in various boxes and bags, wrapped them with poinsettia wrapping paper, labeled them To: Mom, Love: Jesus and placed them under the Christmas tree.
On Christmas morning, I waited until all of the presents had been exchanged and opened before I gave my Mom her gifts. Her expressions as she opened each package were ones of disbelief and annoyance. She ended up being quite amused, but only after she uttered her relief that she wasn't losing her mind. I redeemed myself by handing her a long envelope containing a gift certificate for a day at the spa. I figured she needed a little pampering after the stressful and confusing month she had suffered through.
I didn't feel too bad for playing such a cruel prank on my own Mom because I knew I had given my family the gift of an unexpected laugh that they could enjoy for years to come. Besides, I'm sure everyone was just relieved that I decided not to wrap the dog that year.
September 9, 2008
¡Feliz Cumpleaños!
Happy Birthday to my sister!
Yeah... OK... it's my birthday too.
We are 26 today and officially in our late-twenties. Everyone keeps saying that I could consider it my mid-twenties but I prefer to feel older rather than younger to make up for my lack of maturity. :)
We celebrated on Saturday with some friends and family at Fiesta Azteca. It was great. My mom had decorated the room with banners and tied Mylar balloons to the arms of our chairs.
When we were younger, my mom would spent all day in the kitchen making us these elaborately decorated cakes for our birthday. Every year on our birthday, my sister and I would look forward to seeing what kind of cakes my mom had made for us. My favorite was a cake in the shape of "Strawberry Shortcake" that she made on our 4th birthday.
Years ago, by the time everyone gathered around to sing "Happy Birthday," I had already put myself into a such a sugar induced coma after eating handfuls of frosting that I don't actually remember hearing the people sing to us.
My mother hadn't made us our cakes in at least 10 years so I was surprised when she texted me Saturday morning and asked me what kind of cake I wanted and when I arrived at the restaurant, I was pleased to see a homemade carrot cake sitting on the table. Another thing I remember about my childhood birthdays is having to share a party with my sister. We would each invite 2 or 3 friends and have a slumber party. We did this every year until we were probably 14-years-old. The older we got the more drama ensued at these parties because we had completely different groups of friends. Besides the adolescent quarrels, I don't think I ever really minded sharing a party that much. I was so used to it that I don't think I would've been able to handle having that much attention all to myself.
Now that I am much older, and make an effort not to overdose on frosting, I also realize the anxiety and embarrassment I would have to endure if I had to sit through the birthday song all by myself.
Ahhh... You gotta love the eighties.
Our 26th birthday. 9/9/08
Yeah... OK... it's my birthday too.
We are 26 today and officially in our late-twenties. Everyone keeps saying that I could consider it my mid-twenties but I prefer to feel older rather than younger to make up for my lack of maturity. :)
We celebrated on Saturday with some friends and family at Fiesta Azteca. It was great. My mom had decorated the room with banners and tied Mylar balloons to the arms of our chairs.
When we were younger, my mom would spent all day in the kitchen making us these elaborately decorated cakes for our birthday. Every year on our birthday, my sister and I would look forward to seeing what kind of cakes my mom had made for us. My favorite was a cake in the shape of "Strawberry Shortcake" that she made on our 4th birthday.
Years ago, by the time everyone gathered around to sing "Happy Birthday," I had already put myself into a such a sugar induced coma after eating handfuls of frosting that I don't actually remember hearing the people sing to us.
My mother hadn't made us our cakes in at least 10 years so I was surprised when she texted me Saturday morning and asked me what kind of cake I wanted and when I arrived at the restaurant, I was pleased to see a homemade carrot cake sitting on the table. Another thing I remember about my childhood birthdays is having to share a party with my sister. We would each invite 2 or 3 friends and have a slumber party. We did this every year until we were probably 14-years-old. The older we got the more drama ensued at these parties because we had completely different groups of friends. Besides the adolescent quarrels, I don't think I ever really minded sharing a party that much. I was so used to it that I don't think I would've been able to handle having that much attention all to myself.
Now that I am much older, and make an effort not to overdose on frosting, I also realize the anxiety and embarrassment I would have to endure if I had to sit through the birthday song all by myself.
Ahhh... You gotta love the eighties.
Our 26th birthday. 9/9/08
September 5, 2008
Confucius Say...
Confucius say,
"When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them."
Werd.
You may or may not already know this, but I have a reputation for being one clumsy bitch. Although, I prefer "ponderous" to be a more accurate description of my mental being, my husband, along with many other family members, often refer to me as "absent minded" and "in need of a titanium helmet."
I admittedly break a lot of valuables, including precious body parts, on a regular basis. On any given day, I am apt to fall down or knock something over, but my specialty is bumping my hip into door jams or the corner of a table or counter top and/or stubbing my toes on random household furniture. Ouch.
One time, I stood up in front of my couch and started to walk across the living room when I stubbed my pinky toe on the corner of our oversized coffee table. I yelped in pain but continued along on my journey to the kitchen. Murphy's Law gripped my equilibrium as I then tripped over the cord to my laptop and landed, hard, on all fours, directly in front of the television that was being watched by my husband and our roommate. It hurt so bad and it was so funny that I cried and laughed at the same time. It was a moment worthy of Youtube and one that was reenacted for the amusement of many people for about as long as the bruises on my knees were visible.
Today, April played me as a fool. I walked into work and was instructed to go pick up Ryan from school using my boss's truck. As I stepped up into the bull dozer sized truck I noticed that the owner of the rented house was walking around with an inspector sizing up some major water damage on the house. I carefully backed up the truck as the owner disappeared into the backyard. It took me about three minutes of maneuvering the vehicle out of the narrow spot while trying to avoid about four other cars parked in the area and two architectural columns. I thought I was in the clear when a sudden thud jarred my concentration. I had hit the base of a column with the side of the truck. I got out to find a huge dent with a noticeable series of close knit scratches on it. I quickly covered up the blemish on the column with a giant four ton planter as to avoid any scolding by the bitchy homeowner. I decided it was best to inform my boss after the homeowner had left.
Later in the day, I walked through a giant spider web, stepped in a fire ant pile, and spilled spoiled milk all over my feet. Gag.
Obviously, I hold strong discontent for my flaw and contrary to popular belief, I do not pique myself on my ability to amuse others with my lack of grace. It wrecks my calm nature and I am sick of it.
I decided that I am disowning my title as "absent minded" and donating my helmet to The United Way. Confucius said I could, so I am.
Screw you, 2 left feet!
"When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them."
Werd.
You may or may not already know this, but I have a reputation for being one clumsy bitch. Although, I prefer "ponderous" to be a more accurate description of my mental being, my husband, along with many other family members, often refer to me as "absent minded" and "in need of a titanium helmet."
I admittedly break a lot of valuables, including precious body parts, on a regular basis. On any given day, I am apt to fall down or knock something over, but my specialty is bumping my hip into door jams or the corner of a table or counter top and/or stubbing my toes on random household furniture. Ouch.
One time, I stood up in front of my couch and started to walk across the living room when I stubbed my pinky toe on the corner of our oversized coffee table. I yelped in pain but continued along on my journey to the kitchen. Murphy's Law gripped my equilibrium as I then tripped over the cord to my laptop and landed, hard, on all fours, directly in front of the television that was being watched by my husband and our roommate. It hurt so bad and it was so funny that I cried and laughed at the same time. It was a moment worthy of Youtube and one that was reenacted for the amusement of many people for about as long as the bruises on my knees were visible.
Today, April played me as a fool. I walked into work and was instructed to go pick up Ryan from school using my boss's truck. As I stepped up into the bull dozer sized truck I noticed that the owner of the rented house was walking around with an inspector sizing up some major water damage on the house. I carefully backed up the truck as the owner disappeared into the backyard. It took me about three minutes of maneuvering the vehicle out of the narrow spot while trying to avoid about four other cars parked in the area and two architectural columns. I thought I was in the clear when a sudden thud jarred my concentration. I had hit the base of a column with the side of the truck. I got out to find a huge dent with a noticeable series of close knit scratches on it. I quickly covered up the blemish on the column with a giant four ton planter as to avoid any scolding by the bitchy homeowner. I decided it was best to inform my boss after the homeowner had left.
Later in the day, I walked through a giant spider web, stepped in a fire ant pile, and spilled spoiled milk all over my feet. Gag.
Obviously, I hold strong discontent for my flaw and contrary to popular belief, I do not pique myself on my ability to amuse others with my lack of grace. It wrecks my calm nature and I am sick of it.
I decided that I am disowning my title as "absent minded" and donating my helmet to The United Way. Confucius said I could, so I am.
Screw you, 2 left feet!
A Tale of a Tail
In the summer of 2008, I took a week long trip down to Marathon in The Florida Keys. Normally this would be a great vacation for me but I didn't have my family or friends with me so I was more than glad to return home to them. I guess you could call it a "business trip" because I was technically working, but most of the business I had to tend to took place around a resort pool and my time was spent mostly changing diapers, cutting hot dogs into tiny pieces, and cleaning the sand out of the eyes of a cranky 2-year-old.
Even though I tried to make the best out of the situation, I had never been away from my husband for more than a few days and it sucked way more than I had anticipated. I have a ton of other complaints about the trip but I won't mention specifics on such a public forum. I will say that my patience and tolerance of egotistical assholes was tested constantly and I did have an incident that involved me calling someone, who is responsible for my income, a smart ass.
Aside from that, I was coerced into going snorkeling on a very choppy day and spewed my breakfast in the center of about 40 other snorkelers. Naturally, the fish were very attracted to my barf which would have been great if it weren't for them trying to eat my face off. Sadly, this was not the first time that I had chummed up the water on that very reef. Only this time, I hadn't eaten key lime pie for breakfast.
The trip wasn't all bad. I had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with Ryan, the toddler I was responsible for. We discovered new and interesting things about each other and he even started to pick up a few of my habits. He started using words that I would frequently use like, delicioso and werd! He also started using phrases such as, Gimme a break and I don't roll with that.
Ryan and I normally spend about 30 hours a week together and it surprised me that being exposed to me 24 hours a day for a week could affect him so much.
After about 3 1/2 days, I had taught him how to swim, introduce himself to strangers, and how to tell his right hand from his left. I was quite impressed with myself, even if his parents chocked it all up to "good genes." pfft.
One of my favorite parts about the trip was getting the opportunity to spend time with Ryan's grandmother, affectionately known as "Nanna". Nanna and her husband, "Pop Pop", were visiting from a small town in South Carolina. I am always drawn to small town old folks because they remind me of my own grandparents. I fell in love with Nanna almost immediately and after the first day, she had adopted me as her own grandchild. We would have wonderful conversations about life and although her political views were what you would expect from a woman of her age, her ideals about family and relationships were quite similar to my own.
Nanna would often use words that you would usually only hear on television like "darling" or "gander." My favorite instance was when she looked at me, smiled, and said to me with a heavy southern accent, "I reckon if you took a gander o'er yonder you might could see a slice of chocolate cake with your name on it."
Nanna recognized and appreciated all the little things that I would do with Ryan that his own parents neglected to prioritize, which made me feel better about the time and effort that I was spending away from my own family and made the vacation a lot more bearable.
The trip also opened my eyes to the fact that there are some lobsters that don't have claws. I had always pictured lobsters to be bright red and have massive pinchers but, much to my surprise, a Florida Lobster is a small, brown, clawless, creature. I was also made aware of the thousands of people who venture out into the Florida waters for 2 days each year, dive gear and tickle sticks in hand, to capture these adorable crustaceans before the commercial fisherman plant their many lobster pots throughout the area.
The first day, my employers returned from their 10 hour expedition with 29 lobster which was 1 less than their legal limit. Even though I love to eat lobster, it broke my heart to see their little tails ripped from the rest of their bodies while they were struggling to escape the grasp of a greedy human.
I am not a vegetarian by any means but I could never bring myself to kill another living thing. I like to leave the dirty work for the stronger stomached. I even have sympathy for insects. I don't mind bugs at all. I am especially fond of spiders and beetles and when I come across a bug scurrying around inside my house I usually scoop it up and relocate it outdoors where it is surely to be more comfortable. If I come across a gentle creature who has lost it's way, I will gladly return it to it's home outdoors. Unless I see a mosquito, cockroach, or sugar ant. If I spot those assholes anywhere near my house, I will spray the shit out of them with Windex.
My sympathy for the lobster, however, escaped me as I sampled every lobster based recipe known to man. Between the Lobster Nuggets and Lobster Reuben Sandwiches, you would think I was all lobstered out but I assure you that if I was offered a bite of that delicious tail right now, I would devour it instantly. Unless, of course, I had to kill it myself. I don't roll with that.
Even though I tried to make the best out of the situation, I had never been away from my husband for more than a few days and it sucked way more than I had anticipated. I have a ton of other complaints about the trip but I won't mention specifics on such a public forum. I will say that my patience and tolerance of egotistical assholes was tested constantly and I did have an incident that involved me calling someone, who is responsible for my income, a smart ass.
Aside from that, I was coerced into going snorkeling on a very choppy day and spewed my breakfast in the center of about 40 other snorkelers. Naturally, the fish were very attracted to my barf which would have been great if it weren't for them trying to eat my face off. Sadly, this was not the first time that I had chummed up the water on that very reef. Only this time, I hadn't eaten key lime pie for breakfast.
The trip wasn't all bad. I had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with Ryan, the toddler I was responsible for. We discovered new and interesting things about each other and he even started to pick up a few of my habits. He started using words that I would frequently use like, delicioso and werd! He also started using phrases such as, Gimme a break and I don't roll with that.
Ryan and I normally spend about 30 hours a week together and it surprised me that being exposed to me 24 hours a day for a week could affect him so much.
After about 3 1/2 days, I had taught him how to swim, introduce himself to strangers, and how to tell his right hand from his left. I was quite impressed with myself, even if his parents chocked it all up to "good genes." pfft.
One of my favorite parts about the trip was getting the opportunity to spend time with Ryan's grandmother, affectionately known as "Nanna". Nanna and her husband, "Pop Pop", were visiting from a small town in South Carolina. I am always drawn to small town old folks because they remind me of my own grandparents. I fell in love with Nanna almost immediately and after the first day, she had adopted me as her own grandchild. We would have wonderful conversations about life and although her political views were what you would expect from a woman of her age, her ideals about family and relationships were quite similar to my own.
Nanna would often use words that you would usually only hear on television like "darling" or "gander." My favorite instance was when she looked at me, smiled, and said to me with a heavy southern accent, "I reckon if you took a gander o'er yonder you might could see a slice of chocolate cake with your name on it."
Nanna recognized and appreciated all the little things that I would do with Ryan that his own parents neglected to prioritize, which made me feel better about the time and effort that I was spending away from my own family and made the vacation a lot more bearable.
The trip also opened my eyes to the fact that there are some lobsters that don't have claws. I had always pictured lobsters to be bright red and have massive pinchers but, much to my surprise, a Florida Lobster is a small, brown, clawless, creature. I was also made aware of the thousands of people who venture out into the Florida waters for 2 days each year, dive gear and tickle sticks in hand, to capture these adorable crustaceans before the commercial fisherman plant their many lobster pots throughout the area.
The first day, my employers returned from their 10 hour expedition with 29 lobster which was 1 less than their legal limit. Even though I love to eat lobster, it broke my heart to see their little tails ripped from the rest of their bodies while they were struggling to escape the grasp of a greedy human.
I am not a vegetarian by any means but I could never bring myself to kill another living thing. I like to leave the dirty work for the stronger stomached. I even have sympathy for insects. I don't mind bugs at all. I am especially fond of spiders and beetles and when I come across a bug scurrying around inside my house I usually scoop it up and relocate it outdoors where it is surely to be more comfortable. If I come across a gentle creature who has lost it's way, I will gladly return it to it's home outdoors. Unless I see a mosquito, cockroach, or sugar ant. If I spot those assholes anywhere near my house, I will spray the shit out of them with Windex.
My sympathy for the lobster, however, escaped me as I sampled every lobster based recipe known to man. Between the Lobster Nuggets and Lobster Reuben Sandwiches, you would think I was all lobstered out but I assure you that if I was offered a bite of that delicious tail right now, I would devour it instantly. Unless, of course, I had to kill it myself. I don't roll with that.
Suck That Lolli!
What girl wouldn't love a guy who let them do this to their hair?
I call this "Suck That Lolli!"
and this is the "Sanjaya"
and my personal favorite, "Emo Head."
What a sport.
I call this "Suck That Lolli!"
and this is the "Sanjaya"
and my personal favorite, "Emo Head."
What a sport.
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