That Time I Almost Cried at a Parade

So yesterday I had one of those really crazy days, the kind where I want to cry while it's happening but then end up laughing so hard with Hank while I'm retelling it. Here's what happened:

We've been a one car family for the past week or so because Hank's is broken and won't be fixed until next weekend. So most everyday I take him to work and pick him up again because if I don't, the boys and I are stuck at home. I usually try to get out and do something everyday, if not for their entertainment, for my own sanity. And because I had taken Hank to work that morning I definitely wanted to take advantage and do something. One of the best things about Henry's age is that he has a million of his own opinions and ideas, and when I ask him what he wants to do, he can totally give me input. And his one wish for the day? To get a cookie from our favorite coffee shop.

I thought I would make a fun morning out of it and walk around, collect leaves, and enjoy one of our last Autumn days before the cold weather sets in, so we got all packed up into the car and headed downtown. I specifically parked over by the library- much farther away from the coffee shop than necessary- so we could get a good walk in too. I had the stroller for the carseat to click into, and then the skateboard attachment for Henry. I also brought a wrap in case Charlie wanted to go that route.

We started walking towards the square and I noticed that there were a ton of people in military uniforms everywhere. It was Veterans Day, so it made sense, but the sheer number of them was curious...until I heard a marching band. Then I realized I had forgotten there was a parade! So fun. And what a perfect surprise for Henry. His Uncle Abe was a soldier and it's something we are very proud of, so I loved that we'd be able to take part in something honoring him. Our plans immediately changed and we began walking over to where the parade started, when I realized that we had a lot of time to kill. The thing with having a 12-week old though, is that at least in my case, things work best when they fit into particular blocks of time between naps and feedings. And having time to kill or changing plans isn't always conducive to having a successful outing. But whatever, there was a parade!

So because we had time before it began we went over to the coffeeshop and Henry got his cookie, and we sat for awhile. It was a beautiful day- leaves were falling off of the trees as we sat there, and the air was the perfect crisp November kind. Charlie had been sleeping soundly in his carseat, but towards the end he started getting a little fussy. I figured if we got moving again he would doze off, so Henry finished his cookie and we headed back down to the parade area. At this point I could go on with detail after detail but here's the gist of it, in one overly-dramatic sounding paragraph:

Downtown was packed with SO many people. And I have this stroller with one baby inside, and another baby on a skateboard that happens to be attached to it, that happens to be the biggest spectacle ever in our small town when we go anywhere (what IS that? did you make it? how is it on there? etc.) I'm wearing multiple, unnecessary layers. Charlie is crying so I'm getting super hot, and the parade is insanely loud with gunshots and the band and sirens. I need to take Charlie out of his carseat because he's crying, but then I'm unsure how I will be able to push the stroller and steer it safely with H on the skateboard, or push the stroller and have him walk next to me safely with so many people everywhere. I pull us over to a quieter corner, try to feed Charlie, try the wrap to no avail, so I just hold him, and he's good but every time a loud noise happens, he's scared and crying again. And to add to it, throughout the parade there are various moments of silence for fallen soldiers, and of course I want to be respectful for these brave men and women and honor them with silence, but I have a crying baby and have to keep moving. We're so, so far from the car thanks to my genius planning (haha), and every time I try to turn down a street we are blocked by the parade and can't cross. We must have walked around trying to get back to our car for no joke, close to 90 minutes. Towards the end Charlie had calmed down and all was well but for the time prior it was just one of those times I don't think I'll ever forget. Definitely earned my "take two kids out in a difficult situation while being totally stressed and trying to act like I'm not" Mom badge with that one.

But then you see my photos and it looks perfect right? It made Hank and I laugh because that's the funny part about the internet- you show what you want, share what you want. My time at the parade looks like a great day. And really, it was, in a "this will be funny later" kind of way, and I love that it at least opened up a conversation with Henry about what it means to be a Veteran like his Uncle, but I have to just laugh thinking about all of it.

So. That was my Monday. How was yours? ;)

A Song and a Story

Sometimes memories of mine are so vivid, so real, that I can close my eyes and go straight back, feel the actual emotions of that moment, and be there again. It's strange to me that one of my most tactile memories is of a random day in middle school, in 1994, sitting in the cafeteria after school, waiting for the first meeting of the field hockey team to begin.

Two things about this that strike me as odd now: one, that I was ever interested in playing field hockey (I did just for that one season, between dance and soccer), and two that at age 12, I walked straight into that meeting confident as can be, all on my own. I think back to this in surprise a bit; I was never a shy person but even now attempting something brand new to me, being the lowest rung on the totem pole, all alone, might make me a bit apprehensive. But interestingly, not then.

It's so funny- one of the clearest parts of it all is my recollection of sitting on the bench of a long cafeteria table and smelling the leftover tator tots from lunch that day. Weird, right? But remember those benches? Either side would fold up, and then the entire huge table could be wheeled away. And that cafeteria smell. No matter what school you visit, it's almost always the same, old food and Styrofoam and that weird quiet desperation of adolescence somehow, if you could manage to bottle it up.

So I sat there on that blue and gray bench in the Multi-Purpose Room, which served as both our lunchroom and auditorium, surrounded by that cafeteria smell and a team of older girls. I was in 6th grade, and almost all of the girls were in 8th. The cool girls. The cool, older girls. And two girls in particular, Amy and Jessa, were sitting up on the table, sharing a pair of headphones, listening to something, and bobbing their heads. I had no idea what it was, but my interest was piqued.

Strangely enough I can still remember what they had on, or at least pieces of it all. There was flannel and Doc Martens and Jansport and a floral dress, and even in my 12-year old mind I recall thinking, "so, so cool." So I asked them if I could listen too. And this is where it could have gotten tricky. At that tender age- not quite a teenager, not quite a kid, looking up to the older girls so much- being ignored or snubbed may have been devastating to me. But instead, these two girls, who later that year would also get suspended for smoking weed in the back of a school bus, looked at each other, smiled, and told me to come up on the table and sit with them. My tiny self sidled up next to them, and Amy put her bright pink headphones on my head, no music coming out of the earpieces yet. I sat there in silence for a moment as she rewound the tape. I had no idea that my mind was about to be blown as her Walkman's gears whirred around and around, then finally clicked to a stop.

Have you ever heard a song, or a band, and from the first moment you knew it was something special? As the tape began to play, and the first words of Green Day's "Basketcase" were piped into my ears, I knew. And it's interesting to look back now to being 12, from where I sit here at age 31, and see what an impact music has had on my life. It's been everything to me, and in that very moment, in 1994, when those two girls showed me that song, there was this entire world that opened up to me. Music was not just what my friends listened to, or what my parents liked, there was all sorts of things to choose from- angry music, screaming music, music that conveyed so much emotion that I would find myself waiting for it to come on the radio, then panicking to record it in time so I could play it over and over again that night.

When I first heard this song it changed me, and made me want more. It led me to so many musicians and bands I never would have discovered otherwise, gave me an outlet, and filled up my library card with tape after tape I would check out every week from our tiny local library. The bands I would later discover would lead me to more and more bands, and later shows, and later the friends that would introduce me to my husband. It's amazing what a moment, or a song can mean to a little girl trying to find her way, but it's pretty neat to be able to look back and pinpoint a pivotal moment like this in those often blurry years, and know that yes, that very song changed my life.

I'm Too Sexy...

It was my second year teaching high school English. I was 22, maybe 23. It was the start of a new school week in the Fall when I received the news that I had been nominated for "Hoopcoming Royalty" which is like normal Homecoming royalty, but for teachers rather than students and as a part of our "Hoopcoming" basketball game. Fun. Until I heard that we had to do a dance during the pep assembly that upcoming Friday. First of all, I am never one to shy away from dancing, or even being in front of a crowd dancing, but already being the youngest teacher on campus and then shaking my booty in front of my fellow teachers, students and hundreds of other teenagers? No way. Never. Not fun.

I tried to get out of it, I did. But the girls on student council let me know I couldn't let my partner down and being my sensitive self, I was overcome with guilt and promised to participate.

I got over my initial fears, and wrapped my head around the task at hand. I could do it! And no offense to my partner, a male teacher in the Social Studies department who shall not be named, but I got stuck with a dud, a too-cool-for-school kinda guy. Regardless though, we discussed our plan, and what would happen. We'd seen enough of the kids' Homecoming royalty pep assembly shenanigans to know the drill- a song we picked would come on, and the two of us would go to the middle of the gymnasium and dance for 20, 30 seconds max. I assured Mr. Cool that it wouldn't be so bad. We could pick an old, silly rap song and more lip sync than anything. We'd be okay.

But he refused.

So what was I to do? I certainly wasn't going to go do it on my own, so the gracious student council members said we could just be announced and walk out there at the end. Kind of lame, but better than doing it on my own.

The week went by stress-free. I didn't have to rehearse a silly dance, I didn't have to anticipate being embarrassed. It was pretty awesome!

Then Friday came. The assembly began and soon our part came up. We were last of 4 other pairings since we were just being announced. I still thought it was totally lame, but I went along with it. Couple #4 went...then we were up. Mr. Cool and I walked out to the center of the gym, ready to be announced, give a little wave, and walk off. But instead, something else happened.

I'll never forget it. We were about six steps to the middle, our feet echoing in that silent gym as I'm sure the students were anticipating what dance we would do. And instead of what I expected, a song came on the loudspeakers.


"I'm too" (wait? what?) "sexy for my love," (holy shit, no way is this happening...) "too sexy for my love," (Jesus H. Christ.) "love's going to leeeeeeeaaave" (yes, this is happening).

The beat began.

In that moment I wasn't sure what to do. My partner, the 6'4" basketball coach, notoriously stoic and straight-faced, continued to be stoic and straight-faced. And me, the 5'3" English teacher, notoriously goofy and pretty smiley, decided to channel my inner-Grandma dancing at a wedding, and dance around my stoic partner, who was still standing there in the middle of the gym, unmoving.

I'm not sure why I chose to do this, or what came over me. It was truly a slow-motion moment, a car accident, something I'm sure if you saw happening you wouldn't be able to look away from. In less than a second I became a dancing, shimmying fool. My subconscious had apparently choreographed a number to this song sometime in the 90s and there I was, in front of hundreds of teenagers and my colleaugues, performing it.

In the middle of my 30-second routine that felt like a lifetime, I remember seeing faces. Some surprised, some horrified, some astounded. But I kept dancing. And when the music ended, there was a slow clap. A slooooooow clap. And then cheers as we walked off, either excited about my awesome moves, or excited that it was over, who really knows...

You'd think one of my most embarrassing moments in a high school would have happened to me while I was in high school, but no. It was in my twenties. And in front of all the people I worked with, and all of the little people I had to have authority over, even after they saw me shaking it to "I'm Too Sexy," and even after I was already mistaken for a student every day of my existence. A few life lessons though: one, never assume someone will do what they say. There might always be someone in the group who thinks it's funny to throw some Right Said Fred in the mix. Two, speak up. I should have demanded a different partner so I could have done a fun rap routine, or on at least worn a banana costume like the PE teacher did. Way cooler. There are other lessons here too, like who cares what people think, get over yourself, etc. But most importantly, perhaps the lesson here is that I should channel my inner-Grandma at a wedding more often because guess what? I WON.

xoxo

Post Office. Or, I'm a Paranoid Weirdo.

remember when we all used to round the corners on our photos? 

It was Saturday evening around 5pm and my family and I had just finished dinner at Smashburger (my first time there- loved it!) and I thought it would be a good time to dash over to the post office and mail a pesky return I'd been holding onto for a week. I love those automated post boxes, don't you? A funny story in a funny story, my Dad didn't not believe in their existence until about two weeks ago when I swore up and down that YES there were these ATM-esque self-serve postal machines that allow you to skip the entire 20-person deep line and mail your package yourself. He laughed at me and said he didn't believe it...until he saw for himself that yes, Virginia, they really do exist. TOLD YOU DAD.

But anyway, I thought that Saturday night would be a great time to use the magic machine and get that godforsaken package off of my to-do list once and for all. I went into the empty lobby, package in hand, a canister of Mace in my pocket, equally ready to mail my parcel and to defend myself against some strange man sure to jump out and attack me. And you should know that I'm not even kidding- I think my parents have instilled such a fear in me of "bad things" happening (remind me to share the whole story my Mom would tell me growing up about hair dye and a public bathroom) that I'm virtually always looking over my shoulder for a stranger or worse, a VAN. But yes, I'm in the lobby, at the magic machine, ready to mail, when a man comes in and says "hey Miss, I can mail that for you, if you want to see if it fits into the slot over there in the metered section." First of all, points for the miss vs. ma'am, but hold up Mister Stranger, why on earth would I give you my package to mail for me? I looked at him puzzled for a moment and said something like, "oh no, I'm good thank you very much. I'm going to just put it over here where it belongs." He looked puzzled for a second and took two steps closer (I, getting two finger-lengths closer to my pepper spray), and said "No, see you don't understand, I need to mail your package for you if you want it to go out."

Hmm. The only thing I could think was that this man must be out of his mind and forcefully mailing others' packages must be this thing, but there was no way he was taking this Lulu return from me without a fight. He said again, "I'll mail it. Just get your postage." I again said no thank you and as he stood there, still staring at me, I got kind of freaked out and said quickly, "and if you could just let me mail this on my own that would be wonderful, thank you so much" all awkwardly jumbled together. I don't think it was rude of me to say that, but the second it came out of my sort-of-scared self's mouth, I noticed he was looking at me like I was the crazy one. He gave me the strangest look, turned around and as he did, I noticed there was a cart next to him, filled with those official mail bins, filled with mail. The kind postmen use when they collect mail from mailboxes. The kind they are happy to fill up with your mail. Oh.

Before I could say a word he was gone, cart and all, and there I was with the magic self-serve postage machine, unmailed package in hand. All I could think to do was yell into the mail slot, "Sir! I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you were a postal worker! Sir? Hello?" But my postman friend was long gone.

I got my postage, and me, my package and my pepper spray walked over the metered slot and dropped it in.

Hank and I like to call instances like this "Larry David moments." Have you ever seen Curb Your Enthusiasm? If you haven't, you must. But afterward, all I could think about was how much of an LD Moment this really was. So friends, remind me next time to not be such a paranoid weirdo, okay? Lesson learned.

xoxo