September 16, 2020

re-defining zoom bombs, and threatening the friendly version

After the first full day of e-learning (when Ed had not snuck off to college and left everyone wondering about his whereabouts), I told the three high school kids that I felt there should be a competition to, you know, keep things interesting during this dang e-learning time.  

Me:  Why not have a contest to see whose parents can come up with the funniest Zoom bomb during their kid's class?  

I even demonstrated me walking up behind a kid with a computer and hollering out to the teacher 'Oh, hey - just have to go downstairs to get something' - followed by the fake-descending-stair-mime thing with no actual stairs.

Various responses from my offspring who apparently don't love me anymore included:  You're dumb.  What?  Stop talking.  Did you mean to say that out-loud?  Why do you think you're funny?

Why are dad jokes funny, but moms have to shoulder the burden of sucking?  And, just so we're clear:  "Not sure what goes on over there, but my kids' friends think I'm hilarious" is not an acceptable comment.

Side note aka selfless plug so you know I do have a sense of humor that my children used to enjoy:  I once went outside a restaurant pretending I was just going to the ladies' room.  I left the four youngest sitting in a booth at the window having milkshakes after a particularly grueling Irish dancing class.  They were surprised when I appeared outside the window and then waved to them and proceeded to do the going downstairs mime.  They died laughing.  

Timeless?  Apparently not.  

A moment later, Ed mentioned that he saw Tank's 'thing' on Zoom.  "Classic.  That was so funny.  Well done."

Mimi:  (chuckling)  

Me:  (Glancing back and forth bewildered)  Wait, what did you do Tank?  Someone show me, or tell me.

They refused.  Awckk!  They were purposely leaving me out of the loop.  They swore up and down it was nothing bad, just funny.  

I do not have photos of my kids e learning, but this is typical Tank while we were in MI.  Ed is in the far left corner near our beach blankets.  Coach and 3 youngest playing Slammo in the background.  We did NOT pack an umbrella.  Some beach goer put this umbrella up and then maybe went for a swim.  Tank pulled one of our chairs under it and continued to alert us of how comfortable he was.  The real umbrella person NEVER returned, and I half wondered if the person couldn't find his/her umbrella because he/she was looking for one WITHOUT anyone sitting under it and Tank's presence was throwing him/her off. 

Anyway, Tank had a small group of his closest buddies come and hang out in the basement a bit after my zoom contest suggestion fail.  He rarely has friends over, claims there are too many people in the house.  Fears I might greet them, or God forbid engage them in conversation.  

He insists his friends think I'm weird, etc.  Moi?

His buddies were milling around on the driveway.  I could see them from the snack-bar/mini island in the kitchen where I was set up with my laptop.  Ed was still home, and he was like "Tank, why are your friends outside and you are just laying on the couch in the living room on your phone?"  Before Ed started scolding Tank, I was on my feet.  I threw open the garage door and invited them in.

His friend:  Oh, we texted him.  We were just waiting.

Me:  I know texting is the new doorbell, but you can just come in.  Tank is apparently laying around -too lazy to get up and open the door.

A few minutes later I got an email from the high school principal, Ms. Lypp.  This woman is the best principal.  She was alerting parents of an incident at the school.  An 8th grader from a feeder school Zoom bombed a class that day.  He shouted racial slurs and then mooned a Zoom class.  Police were involved and they were able to identify the kid (birthmark on his butt? I shouldn't joke because the verbal assault was horrible, but the butt part, couldn't resist).  His parents were contacted.  

Well, that was AWFUL.  I was glad to know that they nabbed the kid.

But I was taken aback - I wanted to make sure my kids knew I was NOT suggesting that parents ACTUALLY Zoom bomb classes.  It hadn't occurred to me that it could take the form of a frowned upon, delinquent kind of behavior. 

I thought I created it, for God's sake - well not really, because who hasn't seen the funny clips of people in serious Zoom meetings when a family member does something dorky in the background?  I didn't know kids were getting a code and then showing up on the internet in a Zoom class that they weren't supposed to be in.  I had only suggested that parents sneak up behind their student while wearing an Elmo mask or doing the stairs mime or demonstrate severe bed-head or something silly, not MEAN or HORRIBLE.

I tip-toed down into the basement with my laptop in hand.  Tank and his buddies were sprawled on the sectional, the beanbag chair, and the floor.  From my vantage point on the stairs, I could look down at all of them.

Tank:  (eye-rolling because I was in his friend zone.)

Me:  Tank, I just got an email from Ms. Lypp.  She wanted to let me know that there was an issue with Zoom bombing today.  Your name was mentioned.  (dramatic pause while Tank shot up from his reclined position and jerked his head in the direction of each friend).

Now who was bewildered?

Me:  So, do you have something to tell me?

Tank:  WHAT?  Are you being serious right now?  I didn't do anything bad!

Me:  (waited for him to look back at all of his friends again, and then I switched from my stern-mom-face to a huge smile that only his friends could see, followed by bicep flexing)

Tank's followers:  (rolling around on the floor laughing)

Tank:  Whatever.  Shut-up.  I knew I couldn't get in trouble for what I did.  Duh.  

This is the kid who refused to take improv classes last summer.  I believe he will be the next Chris Farley.  

They still haven't shown me video clips of Tank entertaining his classes, but this is NOT over.  I have other sources.  I will report back.  

September 14, 2020

eating out, transplanted taco inserts, and I scream for ice cream

I thought I'd share a few more nuggets about vacation, although my contact-lens-stealing, willingness-to-toilet-dive story cannot be beat.

Dinner out, take 1:  We ate dinner out twice.  The first night we walked into town.  I decided in advance I wouldn't make a big fuss if we didn't find something I could eat.  I would not punish everyone else for my celiac thing.  

Historically I have struggled to find a menu with enough GF options, and it has perhaps dampened the my mood.  Ahem, I'm looking at you Vancouver restaurant.  

The first place had Tacos.  I can usually eat tacos - minus the flour tortillas.  Coach insisted we check a few more places to be sure I had enough to choose from, as much as I was trying to be chill, he was trying to be accommodating.   We ended up back at the place we started.  Curly, a burger lover, was all set.

I asked if I could do tacos without the tortillas.  Um, no.  Their tacos and burritos had gluten in them - like in the meat or the sauce or something.  Sorry.  I panicked. Already ate a salad for my lunch.  

Coach later claimed that he did NOT start to grow impatient with me, but he DID bump the table hard and turn away in frustration.  I know this.  I think he caught himself and realized I was scrambling to choose under pressure.  Then he tried to act smooth, like he hadn't just behaved like a jerk his father.  I just wasn't feeling the burger with no bun.

I ordered chicken in a peanut sauce on a bed of noodles, hold the noodles.  Well, guess what's gross?  An abundance of Thai (was that even it, I don't remember) peanut sauce without pasta to soak it up or tone it the hell down.  I could barely eat it.  I picked the chicken out of it, and then offered it to family members who wanted to try it.

Ed was sort of giving me a look, like 'It looks and smells amazing, stop being difficult' then he sampled it.  His eyebrows shot up and he agreed, without the noodles it was all wrong, way too strong.  

Dinner out, take 2:  The last night we ate out again, technically it was our anniversary. Coach thought I was serious when I suggested we leave the kids at the house with a pizza while we went out.  I was like, NO.  Not doing that.  

A storm was coming.  Like a big 'un.  We found the place we had looked up.  They were no longer seating folks outside because it was about to get all 'Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore'

We decided to try a Mexican place in a strip mall.  Not the atmosphere I was hoping for.  I preferred a place near the water.  They told us it might be a 45 minute wait.  Nope.  

At last we went back downtown to a cute bar and grill.  The storm hit just as Coach parked across the street.  They could seat us, so I waved the gang inside.  The power went out right after we got to our table, but it came on a minute later.  We watched torrential downpours blow through the streets.

Coach ordered a pulled pork, nacho thing as an appetizer.  It was amazing and I had high hopes for dinner.  I asked for the tacos.  No tortilla.  On a bed of corn chips would be great.  The waitress acted like, YES.  NOT MY FIRST RODEO.

We waited forever for our food.  My tacos came out in flour tortillas.  She sent them back when I pointed out that I couldn't eat them.  Then they arrived at our table 1 minute later in a new basket.  Yep, we are classy people and eating food out of baskets on our 24th anniversary is acceptable.  

Me:  So, can you find out if this is the same taco dinner that you just brought me, because if the chicken was in the flour tortillas then I cannot eat it.  I'll get sick.

Waitress:  Let me check.  (a minute later)  Well, they aren't sure but they don't usually do that.  They usually start over, so let know if you want to re-order just in case.  

Me:  I'll just eat this.  (I didn't want to sit there and wait all over again, and I hate to make a fuss)

Um, the chicken was cold.  Was it the same taco inserts just dumped on chips?  There was hardly any food, mostly chips.  Coach was annoyed.  It couldn't really be classified as an entree.  

Meanwhile:  Reg, Mini, and Curly all ordered a southwest chicken wrap.  The girls wanted plain mayo instead of the spicy kind.  One of them ordered crispy chicken, the other two grilled.  Their dinners were all-kinds of messed up.  They just ate what they were handed with an obligatory eye-roll.  

I contemplated ordering another round of the appetizer since my meal sucked.  Ed admitted that his dinner was not really filling, but he wasn't interested in more appetizer.  Mini later told me that she wanted to strangle him for not agreeing to order it with me.  It was our last night at the house and I was out of other GF options in the fridge.

When we were packing for MI, and by 'we' I mean 'me', I started calling out things for people to grab.  I had a list of my GF food.  Curly grabbed the list  and packed my food.  She forgot to pack these.  It's my favorite food item.  Protein/granola thing with toasted quinoa and GF oatmeal and dark chocolate chips.  It was rough to get through the whole trip without these little yummy treats.  I keep them in the freezer.  Love the crunch.  

We drove downtown after dinner, and Coach asked if I wanted him to stop and get me ice cream.  We had taken the kids out for ice cream the night before.  I hesitated.  Then I said, HEY, YEAH.  I WOULD LIKE SOME ICE CREAM. (damn it - implied).

I got a smaller size than the night before.  None of the kids complained that Coach wasn't buying everyone an ice cream treat.  He reminded them that he had hidden bakery cookies back at the house.  We crossed our fingers that Tank hadn't found them.

I'm not sure if it is a coincidence or not, but after that taco 'meal' I did not sleep great for 3 nights.  That is sometimes how I react to trace amounts of gluten.  Fuzzy head, unable to sleep.  

I used to be big on packing food to save a buck when we traveled.  Then my motivations shifted - I bring food to avoid eating out and getting gluten by mistake.  I do better eating out near home, because I have a few go-to menus that I trust.  

This is just a portion of what we packed.  Some of this is food.  
The cold food was in a huge cooler.  It is a darn chore
 to pack food, but it makes so much sense.

Can I get an amen to the universal mindset:  Hooray for ice-cream?!

Well, I was going to share movies that we watched on vacay, but I gabbed too much about our eating out experiences.  More on movies later.  Oh, and the unexpected visitor on the beach.  Get excited.

I want to find a recipe for this pulled pork nacho appetizer, so if you make something like this please share.  

September 9, 2020

breakfast of family legends: shower door addition

We went out to breakfast our last day in Michigan (yes, last month, cut me some slack).  This part of the plan was genius, if I don't say so myself.  We had to be out of the house by 10 am.  I figured we'd be running low on breakfast food, and as an added incentive to motivate the kids to help us load the car QUICKLY, I dangled the out-to-breakfast carrot.  They bit.  Big time.

Tank ordered and ate every bite of a sandwich 
that had a half a pound of bacon on it.


Curly and Mini ate cinnamon swirl pancakes.  I will spare
 you the details of how long it took us to find a place open
 for breakfast on a Tuesday morning.  We were starving.

The other great thing?  If you eat a slightly late, big breakfast, then lunch is not a requirement.  We headed to the beach with full bellies.   Lunch was just granola bars, some fruit, treats, and juice boxes. 

We'll gloss over the fact that the minute we got to the beach Reggie ripped open a bag of chips and shoved them in his pie hole.  


The fact that this sentiment was shared by Tank speaks volumes, you get that by now, right?  

Anyway, while at breakfast we started talking about the infamous shower door incident. 

Allow me to set the scene:  circa 2009.  Coach drove off to pick up Lad from 6th grade football practice.  This incident falls into the time before Coach owned a cell phone.  Yes, by 2009 most adults had a cell phone . . . Coach wasn't one of them.  

I sent Ed and Tank up to shower.  Together.  In my master bathroom.  Prior to this the kids' shower had begun to leak into the kitchen.  As a result, Coach forbid the kids from showering in their bathroom.  

The phone rang.  It was my BFF, Mary Ann.  She had an earful for me.  

I was preparing to run our Catholic school's first annual garage sale fundraiser.  The pastor didn't want to wait for the summer as advised.  They needed $$.  We were going to do the sale on a 3 day weekend in November.  I tried to warn them - the donations would fill the school.  They waved me off.  Little did they know I was a garage sale guru in my former life, or more accurately when Lad was a baby and Coach was a full time student.   

Mary Ann was upset.  Her husband organized a basketball pick up game in the gym for some of the men of the parish once a month  They'd been alerted that his Sunday game would be cancelled that month due to 'MY' garage sale.  She was irate.  

Did I know that the men looked forward to this?  My brain stumbled to process this.  A woman calling me to bitch me out for VOLUNTEERING my time to run and organize a massive fundraiser while the classrooms were off-limits, filled with desks, etc.  No easy task.  Who the hell did she think she was?  

I'll tell you who she wasn't . . . she wasn't one of my very kind, dedicated, hard-working, fun volunteers (mostly school moms) who helped me pull this thing off.  Nope.    

While she was scolding me, I heard a loud crash.  I hung up, and raced up the stairs two at a time with 18 mo old Curly under my arm.

Ed (9 yrs old) was naked in the shower.  Tank (7 yrs old) was naked in front of the shower with a sheepish expression on his face.  Oh, and there was glass EVERYWHERE.  And blood.  

You mix a little blood with water from a shower and it looks like a freaking massacre - but in reality the boys were mostly unhurt.  

Before the shower door crumbled into a million bits, it was that illusion-type glass.  Not totally easy to see through. 

Tank got out of the shower first.  When Ed tried to exit, he didn't know that Tank was outside the shower door firmly holding the door closed.  Tank was having a good silent, mischievous laugh.  Shock.  Ed tugged at the door,  Nothing.  Tank decided 'joke over' and let go.  Ed yanked at the door harder trying to figure out why it was stuck.  The door BANGED open and shattered.  

The tempered glass crumbled into a huge pile instead of creating shards of glass that could have cut my kids to ribbons.

Well, this was TERRIFYING.  I had to put shoes on to go into the bathroom to rescue them.  I tried to close the bathroom door and put Curly out on the carpeted floor of my room, but I noticed that the carpet was shiny, covered in glass fragments that had exploded out under the door on impact.  Instead I tossed her in her crib.

I put each boy in the whirlpool tub and rinsed off the shiny dusting of glass they were coated in.  Ed 's bloody finger left creepy bloody hand prints on the tiled walls which didn't freak me out at all.  

6th grade football coaches fired up the team for a good 30 to 45 minutes AFTER practice, leaving the parents to mill around in the parking lot.  Me?  Call me crazy, but I prefer practice to end when it's supposed to.  

I called a mom whose husband owned a cell.  He was at the practice picking up.  "Can you please tell Fred to tell Coach to just grab Lad and get home.  I need him."  I might have been crying.  

I called my folks who live a few minutes away.  They don't always pick up.  I called Ann, she's a nurse.  She drove over, but she first called my folks' neighbor who then went and rung my parents' doorbell.

Neighbor:  There has been an accident with the kids at Ernie's house with broken glass.  

Yes, we are lucky that we didn't lose one of my folks to heart failure that night.  

Ann picked the glass out of Ed's finger.  No stitches needed.  My mom called, but she was too shaken to drive.  Coach eventually came home.  It took him forever to get the glass cleaned up.  It was EVERYWHERE.  

FAVORITE PART:  The next day, Ed showed up to school and was treated like Ferris.  Kids told him they'd heard he was hospitalized, or dead, or minus a limb, etc.  Word had traveled through the dad, Fred, at football practice.  

During this Michigan breakfast, Coach insisted that it was his late night at work, but we corrected him.  Nope, you were at football practice.  

Tank remembered things differently, as if he wasn't trying to be a little shit holding the shower door shut.  We gave him points for the attempt at pleading innocent, but no one believed him.  Ed still remembered his confusion in initially being unable to open the shower door.  Mini remembered trying to keep Curly happy in her crib.  

I remember how scary it was, but I also remember the audacity of Mary Ann's phone call. 

Does your family recount memories and remember things differently, or not at all (ahem, Coach . . . I mean, not to mention names or anything)?

September 8, 2020

Jaws memories, historic date, lick-a-ble or not so much

Housekeeping:  So a few of you might have noticed my blog posting on overdrive on Monday . . . so you got a sneak peek at a few upcoming posts.  I moved things around when I posted my new all-time favorite post on Thursday.  If you haven't read it, I implore you.  I sound so bossy.  

Anyway, in my juggling of the 'set-to-go' posts, a few things posted briefly this morning cause I didn't know what day it was.  

On an unrelated note, things with Laddie have escalated because we asked him to talk to us in an "expectations" and "while living here" sort of way.  Well, that went over like a lead balloon.  Did not impact my posts dropping because I apparently screwed that up last week when we were still walking on egg shells, and those egg shells didn't crack until tonight (Monday).  Dang, this post WAS so short.  Sigh . . . 

Back to our regularly scheduled post, which will be followed by another funny, family story on Wednesday:

You've heard of urban legends, but how about family legends?  In our family it's a thing.  

Sometimes when we get together the kids reminisce about stories from back in the day.  There might be a small dispute about who was there and who said what, but there are enough siblings as witnesses that while a few bits might remain fuzzy the basic truth is hard to deny.

Ed finds it mind-blowing that I do not remember Lad shitting his pants while watching Jaws for the first time.  I believe it happened, just don't remember it.  Lad was in about 6th grade, best guess.  

**Ed knows the exact grade they were in, but he wasn't sitting in the car I borrowed from my dad where I sat, parked outside of Irish dancing as I drafted this, to confirm.  And that 'car borrowing' is a whole other post to look forward to.**

Another family legend that just surfaced recently, well - it 'SURFACED' literally back in the day, but the backstory was just shared with Coach and I.  I have chosen not to believe that the ridiculous kid-prank details impacted the outcome of Reggie's First Communion, but I could be wrong.  

Coach taught a class on May 18, 2013 in Colorado when Reg was in first grade (a year before Reg's 1st Communion). It was the first time I agreed to go out of town with him, or the first time the opportunity arose.  

Coach failed to grasp the exhaustive measures I took to pawn our children off on people, but desperate times call for desperate measure and all that.  

My mom was scheduled to help out that Friday morning by watching Curly.  She would be home when the kids came in after school and swapped their backpacks for overnight bags.  Then they each had a friend's mom picking them up for the weekend.  Mom had the weekend off.  Sunday night they would all get dropped back off at our house, and my mom would be there to welcome them and send them to school the next morning.  

Months in advance the kids got rowdy and loud at diner.  Shock.  Coach looked across the table at me and called over the ruckus:  "MAY 18TH BABY, MAY 18TH!"

The kids became hip to our jive, grasping that we couldn't wait to get out of dodge.  They started pounding the table with their fists, while chanting the release date:  MAY 18TH.  Coach and I just shrugged and laughed, recognizing that we had lost complete control.  

They had beat us at our own game. 

Long story, but Reg started puking while at his best buddy's house.  The mom contacted me, and I arranged for her to meet my mom at my house.  My mom won the boobie prize - she got stuck at my house with a sick kid.  So much for giving her minimal duty.

Fast forward to the next year:  Reg made his 1st communion on a beautiful May day.  He told me just as the party started at our house that he didn't feel great.  I asked him if anyone fed him breakfast in the race to get stuff ready before mass.  He shrugged.  I made him eat.  

Oops, someone looks green, get it?
Oh yum, my choc chip coolies and sugar cookies in the shape of shamrocks, crosses and chalices (OK, so they were margarita cookie cutters, but the same idea, right? Don't tell my mil), but none for the guest of honor.

He ate and then promptly started puking every 30 minutes for the rest of the day.  The party continued, but he was quarantined (we were ahead of our time) in our master bedroom.  It was SAD.  

It wasn't until the next day that it dawned on me:  Reg's 1st communion was on MAY 18TH.  What in the world?  The kid puked on two consecutive MAY 18THs.  I remembered the date suddenly because of the kids' mid-dinner, hell-raising chant from the year before.

His puking was what literally surfaced, but recently Mini admitted that Tank dared Reg to lick the garage floor as we all piled in the car to go to church the morning of Reg's 1st communion.  

She is convinced that licking the garage floor made him puke.  

Even on a good day like this (after the Plinko game that ricocheted off of Coach's head), garage floor is not edible.

While I don't think our garage floor is lick-a-ble, I don't think that is what made the kid puke.  I may be naive - and I like it that way, but it's what helps me sleep at night.  

I suspect as they get older there will be more interesting truths shared.  

Who has a family tale that has been recounted multiple times? And do you believe it, or choose not to?

September 3, 2020

abbr. made me giggle, Chinese food memories, and stress

I should be working ahead in my class.  Every assignment makes me panic.  I'm over-thinking things.  I know this.  So I decided to give my mind a rest and come here.  Does that make you feel special?  Loved?

I have several upcoming posts and I could set one up and let it fly and get back to my classwork (have I mentioned, I am in a class called 'Writing for Publication' - typing the course's title makes me sweat), and later check in with all of you to see if I made you laugh or made or prompted you to relate somehow.  

Not doing that. I mean I hope you comment about laughing or relating or whatever, what I am referring to as 'not doing' is using one of my ready-to-go posts even though they are shit-that-just-happened posts.  

To be honest, shit has been happening in rapid-fire succession over here and I am finding it hard to keep up, not just in the writing sense.  In order to get my classwork done, I am only posting twice a week and turns out I often have more to say than twice a week allows.  Stay tuned.

Plus, I think I need to ask the teacher a question about the assignment.  I asked how to approach the last assignment and I really don't want to be 'THAT STUDENT', so maybe if I sleep on it I will wake up confident and just go with it.  

Sure, I will.

Tonight I had to submit my project that was assigned on Friday the 28th.  I had to research a magazine that I would want to submit an article to.  I hope to write a memoir, so I stumbled upon a magazine called 'Memoir Magazine.'  Fitting.  Again, got sweaty when the project had to be in Google slides, or prezi (spelling?) or other foreign-to-me formats.

This is why God created teenagers.



Mini steered me towards Google slides, got excited about importing a specific 'look', and away I went.  I finished last night, and she helped me upload the link to my project and I submitted it.  Done a whole day early.

Today the teacher reminded everyone to check their links because there was at least one project she couldn't open.  Um.  After babies were picked up, I went to read other people's projects, not because I am nosy, but because this is part of the assignment.  We have to comment on our fellow classmates' work and ask a question.  


How great would it be if someone asked me as part of their 'assignment question' why I didn't upload mine properly the first time?  Cause really, how many questions can people who aren't interested in the memoir genre ask me about my presentation?  Anyway, Mini even clicked the link and it worked last night.  What the hell happened?  

She was at tennis when I realized, and I was all worked up- but I figured it out.  Just did it a different way.  Downloaded it first.  Who cares.  My point, I was reading someone else's project on Cosmopolitan (aim high, girlfriend), and the article in it that she studied was on voting.  NO I AM NOT ABOUT TO DISCUSS POLITICS.

Classmate shared part of the informative voting article, and there was a sentence that read:  "If you choose to vote absentee, send in your application and your completed ballot early, AF."

I have no idea what 'AF' stands for, but my mind insisted on translating it to 'as fuck.'  

Well, if you are hoping to learn what that stands for - your search might end here.  No idea.  I just want to point out that it's fun to add 'AF' to the end of sentences when things are running a muck in life and you need a laugh.  Go ahead try it.  I'll wait.  

See?  Refreshing, right?

When I worked at a baseball hat manufacturer just before I got married, my boss ate Chinese food for lunch every day.  At a restaurant.  One of us was clearly getting paid well.  The other of us brought PB&J in a paper bag every day.

Anyway, there was a Chinese food lunch group at work and they made reading their fortune cookies into sport and after they read their little slips of paper, they always added 'in bed.'  Lots of laughs.  This is what my 'as fuck' addition to a sentence reminded me of.  But turns out people who eat Chinese food every day have terrible garlic breath, and that makes my 'as fuck' addendum funnier, somehow.  Work with me here.

Once, boss man got a fortune cookie slip that read:  "You love Chinese food."  Nothing could have been truer.  I so wished his next one could've clued him in with:  "You have terrible garlic breath."  No such luck.

Well, now I have gone and done stream of consciousness stuff and there is not space to tell you what I really wanted to tell you.  But, I will anyway.  If you end reading at the garlic breath part, I won't blame you.

I have not had a glass of wine tonight, promise.  It does seem that way though, doesn't it?  

So, Coach and I went out for our anniversary last week.  I was looking at my FB mom's babysitting page on the way home.  Without my glasses on.  Red flag.  Oh, and I didn't have a glass of wine with dinner either.  Not much fun, but I'd be asleep AF on the way home if I drank.  

So, my sober but blind self could tell that this woman was a teacher and was looking for an in-home daycare.  I thought I was clicking a button that would lead me to her profile so I could see where she taught and if we had any friends in common.  

Not likely.  Sometimes these moms know moms I already sit for, which helps.  I do not friend people much.  Don't use FB much, but it's come in handy for sitting jobs, especially since I got kicked off of  I am not wanted by the feds, people, just insisted I get a different kind of membership since I don't go to people's houses - they come to mine.  It was screwed up, AF.  But look at me, still filling my spots, so there.

Anyway, I hit something.  Never saw her profile and moved on.  My phone made a weird noise when I got home, apparently to alert me that this woman had accepted my friend request.  

Well, shit.  I didn't mean to 'friend' her.  I don't even know her.  She must think I am nuts.  I had kind of figured I wouldn't apply to her job, because she had a baby born in July and I sit for 5 month old twins three days a week.  She needed 3 days, and they weren't flexible.

I sent her a message, but I thought I was on the main page not messenger, so I announced "Sending you a pm", when I was already in messenger.  Dear God.  Was my steak laced with brain-fart-toxins? 


I explained myself in my message, gave an overview of my care, how many I sit for, etc.  She and her husband wanted to meet me.  I was like, REALLY?  Because if you do the math that would mean at least one day a week I would have three babies on the same day, with a few toddlers mixed it.  (they also have an almost 2 year old).  Maybe she isn't a math teacher.  

She doesn't need care till November, so the twins would be 8 mos.  At least. 

In summary:  we met on Saturday and they were delightful.  Normal.  We clicked.  They reached out to one of my references, a mom I sit for, who is a huge fan.  (fortunately all the moms I have right now fall into huge fan category).  Messaged me yesterday to say they want to hire me.  Great.  

But the twins mom, who initially said she was flexible on her days is not as flexible as I thought and I am STRESSED AF.  Twin mom, who is very chill and wonderful, said she would check to see if her aunt would flop her days, but I am feeling like a horses ass, AF.  Too much?

I smell so badly of baby spit up, that I cannot believe I never changed out of my sundress.  The fumes might have impacted my mind and the length of this post.  

This was way more fun than my homework, esp because Mini came in midway through and she is smart AF and could not figure out what the abbreviation means.  Thought the same thing I thought.  We laughed till I cried.  

What have you done for fun lately?  Any good bosses-from-back-in-the-day stories, or current?  It's fine your boss does not read my blog.  What stresses you out?  What abbreviations have you messed up?  I apologize for the long post, but I could not divide this up even though it was all over the place.  

September 1, 2020

the negatives of positive

Covid:  Ed called Sunday morning while I was on my walk.  He borrowed a car and drove 30 minutes at 5 am to be tested.  He waited hours.  Only so many walk-up spots.  Results in 20 min.  Positive.  Damn.  (yes, he wiped down the car and left windows open)

Now what?  The frat wanted him to leave, despite the fact that the first floor was all quarantine rooms.  I think they just wanted to extricate the virus, and maybe leave rooms open for kids from California, etc.  

Frat president:  Can you go home?

Ed:  No.

If he came home, Coach couldn't work.  I couldn't babysit.  We would all get it.  Fortunately, Ed has no symptoms.  His roomie felt really tired one day, so he got tested on Saturday.  Positive.  Thus Ed testing.

We offered to pick him up and bring him to an extended stay hotel really close to home, or Mary Ann's house (hee hee).  I could drop off food, etc. (at the hotel, not at Mary Ann's - she would probably call Amazon to say they delivered something to her by mistake.  For once).  We would drive the Great White and create a divider before the last row out of garbage bags and bed sheets (well over 6 feet from the driver), drive with windows down, masks on, etc.  

Roomie left on Saturday evening.  Spent one night at home, not far from us, then drove to his folks' lake house in Wisconsin to quarantine.  Had the frat not encouraged him to leave (and just had him stay in a quarantine room), he would have waited for Ed and they could be there together.  

The frat president feels bad about this, Roomie feels terrible about not waiting, and Ed feels like he is in a prison cell.  

The quarantine hall is off of the kitchen, so someone yelled out while getting his meal last night:  Hey lepers, or how are all the covid cases, or something along those lines.

Ed:  It's coming for you!

Glad they are feeling well enough to keep a sense of humor.  

Now that a few more buddies have tested positive, they might all drive to Roomie's lake house and quarantine together once they work out a car situation.  

Apparently Roomie said they will need groceries and the nearest store that they could order and pick up from is 30 minutes away, so I will be putting a box of food out on my driveway for them to stop and grab on their way.  Just don't share that info with the raccoons that always seem to be afoot when I least expect them.  Food is my love language, or something, I guess, because I already have a box prepared and a list.  I might make sloppy joe's later today.  That shit feeds the masses and my kids are crazy about it.  
I might downsize the box the longer they stay at school waiting for a buddy with a car to get sick (well, that sounds shitty), because by the time they get to WI they won't need as much food.  Ten days of quarantine.

Tank:  Can he stop here on his way to Wisconsin and spit in my glass of milk?  (Tank wants to get it so he can get it over with, or have an excuse to miss school. Don't worry, he is NOT being careless, he just likes to make us laugh).  Ed says he is very glad to get it now and be done with it.  Not during finals, etc. 

Most of the guys he knows have very few symptoms, a sign that the virus is weakening, mutating, or whatever - my sister the nurse explained this.  A few guys have chills and fever.  Ed did say a kid who had no symptoms ended up losing his senses of smell and taste after 5 days and that sucks.  When we discussed that this might happen to him, we both recognized that it sounds like his appetite would be in tact so he wouldn't be wasting away.

I have not wigged out about this.  It helps that he feels well, like totally normal.  Personally I don't think the colleges should have opted to just e-learn.  I wish my other kids' schools would welcome them back with restrictions in place.

I am glad Ed will have it out of the way.  I am also glad that it will be in the 70s here today so that I can make food for he and his fellow positive test buddies.  

Not trying to start a covid debate, and not planning to run out onto my driveway to hug my kid.  A wave and a box of food will suffice.