We recently borrowed a friend's trailer to haul all of our junk to the dump. All the junk we moved from our last house, into storage, then to the new house, now in a junkyard. What a great use of time and resources!
Anyway, the trailer was parked off to the side of the driveway, almost out of striking range when backing out of the garage.
Almost.
So I was preoccupied on Sunday when backing out of the garage, just Jordy and me. I suddenly heard the awful sound of metal grinding. As soon as I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw the trailer, rocking back and forth from the impact.
My armpits began to sweat and I felt a slight wave of nausea pass through my intestines. I grudgingly got out of the car to assess them damage. There is a long red and black scratch along the back of my silver car. I tried to rub it out to no avail. Out of sheer panic and desperation, I grabbed a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. Mr. Clean laughed at me and then flexed his arms.
I neglected to tell my husband about it, not maliciously, but I just really forgot about it. I remembered the following day when I was at work. Could I spray paint some silver on it to cover the damage? Or get some silver OPI?
Later in the day, we were walking out of the house together, running separate errands. He was taking my car -- the one with the scarlet letter -- and I leaving in his truck. He walked over to my car to put something in the back as I was backing out.
Before he noticed the scratch, and as I am going in reverse down our driveway, I blurted out the open car window, "I HIT THE TRAILER WITH THE CAR! 'BYE!"
Eric looked very confused as I drove off down the street and we had a "discussion" about it when we both returned home later that day.
Yes, my approach was similar to that of a teenager's.
Have you had to 'fess up to anything like this to your spouse/significant other?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Why does everyone's birthday come around faster than mine?!
No, this was not a question posed by me (not this year, anyway). It was asked by my five-year-old son, after I informed him we would be attending a birthday party for a friend that evening.
I have found one of the most frustrating aspects of parenting is explaining TIME to children. It almost makes me even more insane.
"I don't want to go unless it's MY birthday," he whined.
"Your birthday is in July," I told him. "It's not until the summer. You know, when there's grass on the ground, and we can wear swimsuits?"
"But that's not for a long time! Why does everyone's birthday come around faster than mine?" he cried.
"Well, everyone's birthday comes around just once a year, and everybody has to wait the exact same amount of time before their next birthday," I explained. "So Beckett's birthday is today, and he had to wait a whole year for it. Would you like me to get a calendar and show you?"
"No," he offered.
And after he informed me that he didn't want to go to anyone's birthday, ever, except for his own, I decided to wax philosophical. Great idea with a five-year-old, right? Especially one that is tired, and at this point has buried himself under his covers on the bed.
"Honey, today is when we go celebrate with Beckett, and sing happy birthday, and honor that he was born on this day three years ago," I said, rubbing his back over the comforter, while patting myself on the back for making this a teachable moment.
I continued: "So, when your birthday comes, we will sing 'Happy Birthday' to you, and tell you how glad we are that you were born. Everybody just has one birthday each year."
At this point, he interrupted me and said, "Mom, I am plugging my ears. I can't hear you."
I began hearing the voices of Charlie Brown's parents: "Wahh wah wahhh wahh wahh wah wahh."
Wahhh wah wahh indeed.
I have found one of the most frustrating aspects of parenting is explaining TIME to children. It almost makes me even more insane.
"I don't want to go unless it's MY birthday," he whined.
"Your birthday is in July," I told him. "It's not until the summer. You know, when there's grass on the ground, and we can wear swimsuits?"
"But that's not for a long time! Why does everyone's birthday come around faster than mine?" he cried.
"Well, everyone's birthday comes around just once a year, and everybody has to wait the exact same amount of time before their next birthday," I explained. "So Beckett's birthday is today, and he had to wait a whole year for it. Would you like me to get a calendar and show you?"
"No," he offered.
And after he informed me that he didn't want to go to anyone's birthday, ever, except for his own, I decided to wax philosophical. Great idea with a five-year-old, right? Especially one that is tired, and at this point has buried himself under his covers on the bed.
"Honey, today is when we go celebrate with Beckett, and sing happy birthday, and honor that he was born on this day three years ago," I said, rubbing his back over the comforter, while patting myself on the back for making this a teachable moment.
I continued: "So, when your birthday comes, we will sing 'Happy Birthday' to you, and tell you how glad we are that you were born. Everybody just has one birthday each year."
At this point, he interrupted me and said, "Mom, I am plugging my ears. I can't hear you."
I began hearing the voices of Charlie Brown's parents: "Wahh wah wahhh wahh wahh wah wahh."
Wahhh wah wahh indeed.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The Pageant
My husband and I ventured to St. Cloud State, our alma mater, a few months ago. We had plans to go to a hockey game and then out to the renowned (and infamous) Red Carpet to watch the Gear Daddies. Eric had the foresight to book a room at the Kelly Inn, the most popular hotel in town. It's close in proximity to downtown St. Cloud and hosts a large number of events every weekend.
As we checked into our room that evening, I noticed an unusual number of women strolling around the Kelly Inn in evening gowns. Now, this is not a typical sight at this hotel, let alone in St. Cloud.
These women were also wearing sashes across their chests. The quick read I am, I deduced that there was some kind of beauty contest being held on the premises.
The best way to describe it was that it was a Cougar Pageant.
These coiffed, well-manicured ladies were cavorting with one another, their young children (and an occasional husband) in tow.
Unfortunately, I did not get to gawk as long as I would have wanted, as we had to be elsewhere. I was truly in awe of these women -- living, breathing, grown females, voluntarily flaunting their goods -- competing against one another for a crown or something. It was almost too much for me and I short-circuited. Eric had to carry me out of the hotel.
On our way out Sunday morning, we passed one of their hospitality rooms and Mrs. Kanabec County, Mrs. Kandiyohi County, and Mrs. Koochiching County were all swarming around in the hallway. I slowed my pace, hoping someone might notice me and suggest I register as a late entry into the contest. I know that happens to unknowns in malls: "I was discovered by a scout when I was out shopping at Sears with my friends, and now I am on the runway for Michael Kors. I know, it's crazy!" After all, I was a heavenly vision in sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt, baseball hat, smudged mascara, and unbrushed teeth.
They must have been too distracted by each other's rouge and sadly, I passed just under their radar.
Perhaps 2011 will be my year. Better shape up my act before then.
As we checked into our room that evening, I noticed an unusual number of women strolling around the Kelly Inn in evening gowns. Now, this is not a typical sight at this hotel, let alone in St. Cloud.
These women were also wearing sashes across their chests. The quick read I am, I deduced that there was some kind of beauty contest being held on the premises.
The best way to describe it was that it was a Cougar Pageant.
These coiffed, well-manicured ladies were cavorting with one another, their young children (and an occasional husband) in tow.
Unfortunately, I did not get to gawk as long as I would have wanted, as we had to be elsewhere. I was truly in awe of these women -- living, breathing, grown females, voluntarily flaunting their goods -- competing against one another for a crown or something. It was almost too much for me and I short-circuited. Eric had to carry me out of the hotel.
On our way out Sunday morning, we passed one of their hospitality rooms and Mrs. Kanabec County, Mrs. Kandiyohi County, and Mrs. Koochiching County were all swarming around in the hallway. I slowed my pace, hoping someone might notice me and suggest I register as a late entry into the contest. I know that happens to unknowns in malls: "I was discovered by a scout when I was out shopping at Sears with my friends, and now I am on the runway for Michael Kors. I know, it's crazy!" After all, I was a heavenly vision in sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt, baseball hat, smudged mascara, and unbrushed teeth.
They must have been too distracted by each other's rouge and sadly, I passed just under their radar.
Perhaps 2011 will be my year. Better shape up my act before then.
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