YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG (unspoken, but clear)

The end of April when I picked Curly up from basketball practice she told me about a story they were reading in school about a girl whose mother goes in the hospital and she's so sad, partly because her dad has to do her hair. He's terrible at it and her hair always looks terrible. 

Curly:  I know how this girl feels, because  I hate my hair. Every.single.day. 

Like HATES. 

I was taken aback. WHAT? EVERYONE LOVES YOUR HAIR. 

I felt so incredibly bad, recognizing that if she hated her hair it really didn't matter what anyone else thought. She's 13. Hating your hair sucks. I've been there. 

In case you haven't heard me whine about my childhood hair . . . we were on a budget. Mom took me to a real, live beautician. I was in kindergarten. Got me the popular Dorothy Hamel. I loved it. 

For the next 10 years or so, Mom cut my hair herself. She was an untrained stylist, but a disciple of how-to-save-a-buck. Using a flat edged razor blade she 'feathered' my hair, leaving me looking exactly like my brothers. My mom refused to let me grow my hair out - even in high school. Talk about controlling. I feel pretty strongly that this was a mistake. My self esteem took a big hit. 

I was not gonna have Curly feel icky about her hair. 

Shortly after the horrible haircut mistake that I performed on my own child's very forgiving curly mop over 2 years ago, I heard women at a graduation party talking about haircuts. I'd promised Mini that I'd never cut Curly's hair again. I leaned in close during this conversation. One woman gave me the number of a beautician she uses who is trained in the Curly Girl Method. 

I hadn't contacted the stylist because Curly wasn't ready for a cut. Now as I scrambled for a solution to the hair hatred issue, I thought maybe this woman could give advice. I texted her and explained our predicament. I sent a photo of Curly and described how as the day goes on her hair just 

GETS BIGGER AND WIDER. 

I'd tried a number of products and we weren't looking for a cut, but hoping for suggestions. 

Stylist:  I can do a consultation. 

I was worried it was going to be:  HERE'S HOW TO BLOW YOUR HAIR OUT AND STRAIGHTEN IT, because what could she suggest that we hadn't already tried? (insert laughter at my silly self). I scheduled us for a consultation and we began counting the days. 

*The stylist texted me back BTW after I sent the picture:  NOT TRYING TO BE WEIRD BUT DO YOU GO TO OUR LADY FOR CHURCH? (me:  yes) YOUR DAUGHTER SERVES MASS THERE AND I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO STYLE HER HAIR.

Funny. I didn't feel stalked, but was thrilled to find this woman who's so passionate and informed on curly hair. To think, I had her number for 2 years, not realizing that I needed her to look at me and tell me:  

YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.

Mid-May we had the appointment. Life changing. Curly now has more products and instructions sent in an email than I ever could've imagined. She is loving her hair and she looks amazing. One of her products has to be stored in the fridge. I will keep you posted on whether or not her brothers ever try to eat it. It's called Banana Cream something. I wouldn't put it past them.

This is not everything. We still have a few things to hunt down.

Biggest difference in Curly's hair since we met with the Curly Girl stylist is that it doesn't look dry. It hangs better - less frizz, more curls that cling together in a bouncy formed fashion. Since this woman transformed Curly's hair, I started wondering if she could work magic on my lost-cause hair. I used to have curly hair (not to the degree that Curly does), now I just have a touch of body - plus my hair is now crazy thin. Thanks, celiac. 

Where did the time go? Oh - there it is. Where has my mind gone? *still searching*

On Wednesday (a few weeks ago) I got my haircut at 3:00. Trying something new - more on that later. I was with a new hair stylist. And, yes - I did feel like I was cheating on my regular stylist. Revisiting this topic soon. 

I felt like the appointment was running long, so I moved the drape-thingy to look at my watch. Holy crap, it was after 4. I had to pick Curly up at 4:45 at b-ball and race to dancing. Her basketball practice was almost 30 minutes from home and I was 10 minutes in the opposite direction. This practice is not to be confused with basketball camp or the OTHER team she plays basketball for and their practice schedule. I wanted to focus on the products being recommended but my mind was whirling. 

Sidewalk chalk by Mini while entertaining
Wilhlem. Above is Tank's gold grad sign
AFTER it was returned post tornado.

Speaking of babysitting - OK, so we weren't speaking of babysitting but welcome to my brain . . . despite my 'break' from sitting, I still feel like I'm responsible for babysitting guys. Or, namely one guy. Wilhelm. He's still at my house 3 days a week. Mini watches him Monday and Tuesday. Curly watches him Wednesday so Mini can caddy.

Translation:  I watch him when either girl has a conflict like basketball camp/practice. 

So, I scheduled my haircut knowing that Curly would be at practice, but Coach would be home to watch Wilhelm. I hate this constant mindset:  is someone home or will I have a carseat to take him places. Exhausting. 

Good news:  after 3 weeks of basketball camp - it's over. My girls can haul their butts out of bed and be ready for the tot while I'm free to go for a run without worrying that I won't be back in time. 

Back to me leaving the haircut . . . I called Coach in a panic. Curly doesn't have a phone. I couldn't tell her I was running late. I needed to stop at home and grab her dance bag that she packed in advance. I asked Coach to put dinner in a thermos for her. I ran in, grabbed bag/thermos, and bolted. "If you weren't here watching Wilhelm, I would've told you to go get her yourself so we weren't late," I spouted my frustration with having a 2.5 year old to worry about over my shoulder. Coach looked confused. I thought:  MEN.

At a stop light around the corner, I looked at my GPS. How much later would I be now that I'd stopped at home? 4:59. 

Dear God. I hated to think her coach would be inconvenienced waiting for me to arrive. I was going to be almost 15 minutes late. 

Or. Was I? Wait. Hmm. 4:59, as in almost 5:00. Dancing starts at 6:30. Why am I racing? Why is there such a large gap between dancing and basketball? That's not right. Oh. Shit. 

Basketball practice ends at 5:45 NOT 4:45. 

I drove in a loop and returned home. Entering the house Coach and Ed stood side by side looking concerned. Rightfully so. I've lost my mind.

Coach:  I THOUGHT THAT DIDN'T SOUND RIGHT, BUT I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING. 

Of course he wouldn't say anything, because one of us (not him) knows the schedule PERFECTLY. Or not. 

I temporarily lost an hour. Tell me I'm not alone. 

issues: editing addict to anti-vax in laws and everything in between

There is much going on here that we, or I, or someone needs to figure out. All the balls in the air is starting to get to me. I feel like it might be messing with my sleep. If my sanity doesn't return, will sleep?

The lack of sleep:  my own fault. I've started making a video to show during Tank's Aug 7th grad party. Montage of video clips/photos. Full disclosure:  I've gone over board. Way too thorough. 

EDITING ADDICT:  

I gather cute clips. Then I continue going through every video file that MIGHT be relevant. Or funny. Or cuter than the first round of cute. My dream:  organize all  our family clips and save them to DVDs/flash drive. Who has time for that? Not a certain someone who took A LOT (understatement) of video and photos. I think looking through all of the clips is my way of FEELING organized. If I visit those memories often enough, maybe the distant project of editing them into watchable family movies won't seem so impossible. 

Perhaps watching all the clips is my version of therapy for my heart . . . another guy heading to college, but look at all the good times to look back on. 

This week I've found that I can't quit editing till midnight. 

Me (to self):  Great, I got lots done. I can sleep in.  

This message doesn't compute with my system. I'm up before the sun. 

The benefit:  I've found some amazing clips that I must share with you. Get excited. Exhibit A is below. (explanation below - sorry it's lengthy, skip it and you'll still laugh at the video)

When Mini was less than 2 months old, I did a boot camp class. Prior to this my only form of exercise was walking. I thought I'd run really fast during class. Coach asked me to prove it. I didn't realize he was videoing my VERY slow run in the yard of our first house. How disillusioned was I? Define fast, sister. He never laughs like this in real life, but he was intentionally being obnoxious. It's a little fuzzy. I had to record it off of my desktop. Couldn't figure out how to edit and save it. It's part of a 2 hour video we had converted from VHS to digital. You can laugh at me. I'm funny. And slow.

POSSIBLE PARTY FOUL:

Our swing set was knocked over in the tornado. It could be repaired. Perhaps. It was old to begin with. The stain job adds to the 'turn-me-into-firewood' look. I've looked at used swing sets that people are trying to sell online. Some of those look like they've fought 8 tornados, and lost. Basically people are hoping someone will haul away the beat up mess in their yard.

Coach doesn't want to take one part, transport it, and put it together. He'd also like to not spend time giving our current set the love it needs. His real preference:  no more swing set. Um, hi, have we met? I run a daycare and I put the tots in the swings ALL THE TIME.   

Sobs softly.

In my opinion, there are a few reasonably priced sets in great shape. One homeowner is even offering to help dismantle, and his doesn't need to be stained. 

Maybe the guy (Ziggy), who we've hired to do our siding (please, sweet Jesus - help us agree on a color), can have one of his guys repair it for a fee. Coach plans to spray some paint on it. Sounds ugly to me. The damaged playset is propped up in our yard. It needs to be repaired BEORE the grad party. Injured cousins = party foul. 

THE GREAT WHITE:  

The struggle is real - there are NO gently used, former airport shuttles for sale. We'd like to add one to our fleet BEFORE we drive Tank to college. My kid working at a dealership isn't scoring me an inside track. 

ANTI VAX IN LAWS:  

With Tank's party approaching, I wonder what to do about Coach's parents. They're anti-vax. My FIL even sends alarmist emails to us. As my kids say, he suffers from 'confirmation bias'- he only reads info that supports his opinion. In other words my in-laws are uninformed about actual science and facts. "Most people who get the vaccine will suffer from a blood clot."

My dad is immune compromised. He has leukemia. He's been vaccinated, but he could get covid. He'd likely die. Honestly, I can't be sure all of our other guests have been vaccinated. I just KNOW these two ass-hats haven't been.

Coach doesn't want to tell his parents to stay home. He thinks they'll be fine to just keep their distance (and wear a mask when they come inside?). Maybe. I'm struggling to see this clearly though. I've got my reasons . . .  basically, I'd like to tell his folks more than just stay home. The issue runs deep. Layers. 

To summarize:  we've been married for almost 25 years. His parents' controlling, overstepping, judgmental, religious zealot tendencies have hurt me/upset me over the years. The stories I could tell. Coach has always been adamant that I not speak up. No voicing my feelings. 

Well. That's not how I roll. Holding it all in has me about to burst.

I admit freely:  DUE TO MY ABOUT-TO-BURST ISSUE -  EVERYTHING THEY DO THAT I HAVE A SMALL ISSUE WITH, BECOMES A BIG ISSUE AND GETS ME FIRED UP. 

Call it a character flaw, but that's where I'm at.

Thoughts?  Besides:  you lost in the in-law lottery.

super short post: life with Wilhelm & funny pics

Before I left for the out of town hotel-  followed closely by AZ, Curly took this video of Wilhelm shadowing me during my workout. He makes it look so easy. Actual names are spoken here. Too cute not to share. 

Mini watched Curly's dance competition all day from home on the livestream. She's usually with us, so this was unchartered territory. She was technically babysitting for Wilhelm. 

Photo Mini sent me of lunch
with her little charge.

She video chatted with us a few times throughout the day. Each time as we shared how the day was going and who was a standout dancer, Wilhelm's large head would suddenly appear RIDICULOUSLY close to the screen - inserted from the side, as if he was floating. Slightly creepy. I wish I'd taken a screen shot of it, because Curly and I were doubled over. 

Wilhelm apparently dug out a toy laptop that no longer works and set it up next to Mini's laptop on the family room floor.  Once when a dancer fell on stage, Wilhelm said in his robot tone:  BYE-BYE, ALL DONE. Mini died. 

Mini said most of the family huddled around her laptop and saw Curly's final round. This prompted the males of the family to send texts and question why she hadn't gotten more air-borne. Curly just rolled her eyes and explained that that's not the kind of dance for flying around the stage - more about footwork. 

Tank sent me this GIF of Will Ferrell
after he watched Curly dance.
Spelling isn't his thing.

Mini and Ed stayed up late, thanks 2 hour time difference, so they could watch the awards. Ed later said as they rattled off the world qualifiers, he was worried they were going to reach 14 dancers before they got to Curly's number. Welcome to my world of Irish dancing induced anxiety. 

Mini video chatted us as we walked back to the hotel after awards. 

Me:  PLEASE STOP SENDING ME SCREENSHOTS OF ME HUNCHED OVER MY CAMERA, YOU FREAK. (Then I took a screen shot of Mini flipping me the bird). 

I was super tired, but Curly was bouncing off the walls. I finally begged her to let me take off her wig, which is usually the first thing she wants to do. Too excited. 

Once back home, Tank stopped at Nothing Bundt Cakes and brought Curly home a treat to congratulate her. Very sweet and unexpected from Sir-joke-a-lot.

Has anyone ever snapped photos of you when you weren't aware you were being photographed (ie the livestream photos Mini took of me)? I think it could be considered a form of cruel and unusual punishment.

Blogger was being difficult because I was trying to add so many photos to this post . . . so they are bringing up the rear.

Red velvet mini- bundt cake.

Almost forgot to share a photo
of Curly's new dress.
We are CRAZY about it.

Curly and I walking
away from the
 stage after we'd taken
 photos during awards.
Screen-shotted and
sent by Mini.

 

Another dancing mom took
this screen shot from her home
computer. It was so clear I
half expected her to pop up
 in the back of the room.
This is TOO-TALL Curly
celebrating with her dear friend
who was also called up 
as a world qualifier.

This was in a series of
non-flattering
photos Mini took with
 a screen shot. I felt
stalked and SEEN.
Silly Mini.

asterisk explained and thumbs up on the makeup, what's happening?

Backing up the bus:  a bit about the dancing day. 

I'd scheduled Curly to have her wig done by Geri. Remember Geri and Shawn from Indianapolis in November when they did Curly's makeup out of pity, but not before they were horrified by the photos of Mini's attempt? Somehow being scolded by people in thick Irish accents for sucking at makeup was a shockingly positive experience. 

The pandemic meant makeup services weren't allowed. Mini-panic attack.

I hired a former Irish dancer, who I used to babysit and whose mom used to babysit me, to teach us. Thursday night, the week before we left, she gave Mini and Curly a makeup tutorial at our house. I zoomed from my hotel. Mini took notes. Curly recorded the lesson on her iPad. In other words, WE COVERED ALL THE BASES. Despite Geri's instructions back in Indianapolis, I did NOT run out and purchase MAC makeup. 

Dry run. Not too bad, for the woman
who once said:  WE DON'T HAVE
MAC MAKEUP IN CHICAGO.

I did a dry run Monday. Thumbs up. The night before Curly danced, I watched the lesson. I read the notes. I laid out the makeup in the hotel bathroom. We hoped another mom, who doesn't live in fear of gluing eyelids together, would attach the fake eyelashes. At the last minute, I deiced not to overthink it. I didn't want to hassle another mom. I managed tackling the eyelashes with flying colors, and Curly is still able to blink. 

Excellently placed pony tails.

Curly's wig appointment was at 8 am. We lunged for the chair when the dancer in Geri's chair wrapped up at 8:10. Um, no. Geri had another dancer ahead of us, she was running incredibly late. I chose to remain calm. 

Curly put on her shoes and warmed up. By the time Geri attached Curly's wig, we had mere minutes to walk to the ballroom where Curly would dance fairly close to the 9 am start time. 

I thanked Geri and asked if I'd done the pony tails the way she wanted them. She'd told us the day before that she'd brush Curly's hair out when she did the wig. 

Shawn is in the white shirt and Geri is on
the right, straddling Curly's tanned legs.

Me:  NOPE. NOT HAPPENING. NOT UNLESS WE SHOW UP WITH HER HAIR DRIPPING IN CONDITIONER. THAT WON'T WORK. 

Geri finally agreed to let me separate the hair into ponies in advance. Victory. 

Before we walked away, Geri uttered words, I never thought I'd hear:  

THE MAKEUP LOOKS GREAT. IT'S ON POINT. 

Who even am I?

*this is a 14 second video I took. I'm on the phone with Mini discussing how we hope someone else will do lashes, before I got all brave. Comfortable sharing my kid's face, because this is NOT what she looks like. She was a tad grumpy/nervous wanting me off the phone with Mini.

Curly seemed cool and collected. She danced beautifully. After her first round, she wanted to puke. For 35 minutes, she begged me to help her feel better. She ate something. Bingo. She ran to the garbage can (where we'd already visited once during the 'waiting to puke' stage, and where I'd previously managed to wrestle the lid off the garbage bin with ease. See, our day was running so smoothly). Curly successfully lost her lunch, or technically her breakfast. She felt much better. Danced great the next few rounds. 

I could do without this new part of our dance day routine. 

The * part:  

This year the National Irish dancing committee let ANYONE dance. No qualifying necessary. I probably could've come out of retirement. Translation:  many dancers. They split the competition randomly 3 ways instead of 2, leading to the competition being slightly watered down. 

Curly ALWAYS ends up in the harder split. This year:  easier split. Not ashamed to admit that. Of the Midwest dancers, most of the top dancers were in a different split. Dancers from other regions, well- those we had no idea about. We understood that there'd be amazing dancers who we were unfamiliar with. And there certainly were. 

Additionally, the handful of dancers from the UK that typically compete, couldn't come. 

Curly stood on stage with the 14 world qualifiers as they announced the winners in reverse order. When she realized that she made it to the top 10, she hopped around squealing, hugging her WQ dancing friend. 

Afterwards:  I think there were
 50 bobby pinsholding that wig on.

I knew she could go to worlds this year even if she didn't qualify, because she qualified when it was cancelled. Just before she was called back stage for awards, she admitted that she really wanted to qualify again. Just what I'd been happy to avoid:  stress. 

Such a relief when she met her goal. 

Open to suggestions to avoid the vomit portion of our day. She claims she wasn't very nervous. I let her decide what food interested her for breakfast, which I assumed was a strategic error in November when I insisted she eat some protein, etc.  Perhaps I just start packing airline sick bags in our dance bag. 

People, I have a plane to catch, and sweltering Phoenix

Curly joined Coach and I at the out of state adventure on July 4th (more on the reasoning behind that coming . . . at some point)- days before she and I flew to Arizona for Irish Dancing National Championships on the 6th. It wasn't ideal, but it was the way it worked out. 

All along I thought to myself, What could prevent us from boarding the plane on July 6th? I could think of nothing. I banked on smooth sailing. 

I'm silly. 

We planned to bolt early Monday morning, July 5th. 

At 1:30 am on the hotel's fire alarm went off. Coach leapt out of bed. He stepped on Curly on her air mattress in the process. 

Groggy me:  IT'S GOTTA BE A FALSE ALARM. GO BACK TO BED. *have I learned nothing from sleeping through the tornado?

Coach (after opening the door to the hall):  EVERYONE'S EVACUATING. WE GOTTA GO. 

Me:  *%^$+!@#&*!@

I'd already packed. The clothes I was going to wear in the morning were out. I put them on. Ain't no one gonna see me in my nightgown (or at least no one in the parking lot of the Fairfield Inn) - trust me, my nightgown is cute and could pass for a summer dress. Still, I couldn't do it. I grabbed my toiletry bag, slid on my favorite sandals, grabbed my purse, and followed Coach with my roller bag into the hallway  where the alarm was ear-splitting. 

While I prepared my escape, I called out to Curly:  TAKE ALL OF YOUR STUFF WITH YOU. 

The girl was so confused and sleepy that she tried to walk out of the room carrying her blown up air mattress. I apologize for not having a video of that. Her bouncing off of things. Priceless. 

As tired as I was, I thought:  WE'RE GETTING ON THAT PLANE. I NEED MY WALLET, MY FAV SANDALS, MY ROLLER BAG, MY TOILETRIES. (priorities)

Outside, I looked at Coach. After a few minutes I said:  THIS PLACE BURNS UP, YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO DRIVE CURLY AND I HOME TONIGHT AND COME BACK AND FINISH UP WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE WITH OUR PROJECT TOMORROW. 

Coach aka Sherlock pointed out that there was only one fire engine for the entire hotel. That's when I noticed that a fireman sat in the driver's seat, looking relaxed (and tired). We deduced that fortunately the place wasn't going up in flames. Once the partner guy was done assessing the building, we were allowed back in.

Coach and I were awake for'evah. I think I went back to sleep around 3:15 am. The 6:30 am alarm physically hurt. 

*****

When I got home, I took the time to educate my children who'd all been home for the week while I was away taking care of something that needed to be done. 

THIS IS THE BROOM. IT WORKS WELL HERE IN THE KITCHEN. THIS DRAWER FULL OF DISH TOWELS IS APPROPRIATE FOR THE COUNTERS. 

I'll leave it at that. 

After laundry, more food prep and packing for AZ, I collapsed. 

*****

Switching gears:  NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIPS OF IRISH DANCING

Uneventful:  I did NOT leave an essential bag in a taxi. No one had a fever. I didn't temporarily lose my credit card, or my mind. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. 

Curly celebrated the upscale hotel chosen by the dancing association. A step up from the Fairfield. The heat in Phoenix:  oppressive. Our hotel was less than 2 blocks from the venue. 'Twas a sweaty 2 blocks. 

Curly placed 9th. 

The highest she's ever placed at Nationals is 19th or 20th. She qualified for World Champs in April, in Belfast. I'm sad it's not Dublin, the pandemic location that we intended to visit, but it was cancelled. 

It felt a little like there should be an * next to this win. I'll explain the * in my unplanned post tomorrow along with our latest makeup adventure. You'll be proud. 

Oh, anyone ever been evacuated from a hotel? This was a first for me, and I feel like I've stayed in a lot of hotels. 

not my favorite Sunday

 FAST-FORWARD  TO SUNDAY:  (click 'Fast-forward' for link to 1st part of story and 'Sunday' for link to 2nd part of story) . . .

Aunt Leprechaun sent out an evite weeks ago via text msg inviting my side to the lake house for an 8th grade grad party. I prefer to get evites in my email, because I have a hard time finding them buried in texts. 

Anyway, Coach was out of town. 4 kids were caddying in a tournament. Curly was going to maybe have travel b-ball. I responded as maybe for 2. My response never registered, so Pat texted me to ask if we were coming. I texted him and responded again on the texted evite. This time I stared at it to be sure it showed up. 

Mid-week before the party, Aunt Leprechaun texted through evite to say party might be postponed because of weather. I SO WISHED FOR A RAIN DATE. I really didn't want to go as I was getting ready to go out of town, but under the 'she must be jealous' umbrella, I felt I had to show up and admire their house. Plus my godson was being honored. 

At midnight, after my text-rant to my kids, I looked at the evite. No updates or announcements. I looked at the weather:  sunny and 80. Dang, great forecast so they didn't change the date.   

I woke up that morning and decided I needed a new-lake-house gift. I hate trying to squeeze things in that weren't on my list. We ran to Marshalls and bought a very nice Tommy Bahama basket. I packed my food since I can never be sure. We got a later start than I wanted. I hoped to only stay a few hours. The drive was only a little over an hour- a bit more in traffic. 

Of course by now you've guessed, . . . no one was there. 

First we stood on the deck facing the water. If we were at the wrong house, we hoped the people would come out and tell us to scram.

Curly:  They can't be having a party. It isn't party ready. I don't even think they should invite people up here, it needs work. 

*We are spoiled because our friends have a pristine lake house. 

I called Pat. Nothing. I told Curly maybe they were all out on a pontoon boat. It'd be a crowded pontoon, but OK. I texted Leprechaun:  checking that we're at the right lake house. I called Marie. 

Marie:  OH HI. 

Me:  ARE YOU AT THE LAKE HOUSE?

Marie:  HUH? NO - IT'S . . . OMG ARE YOU THERE? OH NO. DIDN'T YOU GET THE MESSAGE? 

Instant pit in my gut. So much needed to be done at home. Trying to 'play' nice was backfiring. Curly was starving - of course, in true Shenanigan fashion she admitted she'd been looking forward to the food. As Mini later said:  OH, AND NO ONE HATES WASTING TIME MORE THAN MOM.

Aunt L called me back:  I JUST SAW YOUR TEXT. OMG. I FEEL AWFUL. YOUR KIDS SHOULD'VE ALL GOTTEN THE MESSAGE TOO. THEIR NUMBERS WERE ALL ON THE EVITE. WE JUST LEFT TO GO HOME THE KIDS WERE KIND OF SICK OF BEING THERE ALL WEEKEND, BUT WE'LL COME BACK.

*sick of being there? It was 2 on a Sunday. It's a beautiful day, huh?

Curly and I sitting on the deck while we waited
 for Aunt Leprechaun to come back. 

I begged her not to come back, saying we'd sit on the deck for a few minutes and enjoy the sun and the view and then we'd head home. She wouldn't hear of it. She was on her way. I felt so bad for ruining Curly's day. Since the tornado, we've had nothing but cool, rainy weather. We finally had pool weather and we were going to spend just under 3 hours total in the car. 

Aunt Leprechaun showed us around. Me:  "Great space. This is perfect." Curly walked out on the pier with her cousins. We chatted for 25 minutes. 

Curly later to Mini: It's a no wake lake - they can't have a boat fast enough to pull a tube.

Mini literally froze, blinking excessively. WH- WHAT? I DON'T GET IT? WHY A LAKE HOUSE IF NO TUBING? (like I said, spoiled by friends' lake houses. My kids like their tubing. I'm fine without, but Mini was hilarious in her NO, THIS ISN'T A THING response. 

BTW - none of my kids got a 'we're postponing the party' text from evite. I did let Leprechaun know that in a carefully, intentionally-friendly way. Lad and Ed have iPhones now, so no one can point fingers and blame Androids. 

When Curly and I drove home, I shared my food with her. I managed a strained giggle. CURLY, ANOTHER BLOGGER, ALLY, JUST WROTE A POST THAT SHE CALLED SOME POSTS JUST WRITE THEMSELVES. I GUESS THAT'S WHAT THIS IS. 

Curly half laughed. I couldn't blame her. 

Part of my frustration:  I try to create distance with my family of origin, but this seems to be a simple case of Damned if I do, and damned if I don't. Even simple stuff like:  TELL DAD TO CALL MY KIDS NEXT TIME TO GO IN THE CRAWL SPACE turns into a WE STILL PREFER PAT OVER YOU moment. If I didn't have distance, would I have heard about the cancelled party through family conversation? This, the family that loves group texts? Why not check to be sure everyone got the flipping message. Like I said, layers.

Have you ever showed up to a party on the wrong day? Wrong time? Wrong house? Wished for a different family? (kidding!)

 

extra: why awkward? PLUS: what are the chances?

Awkward things I think created a ruffle between Pat's family and mine: 

New Year's Eve 2020:  I took Reg to the orthodontist that morning. We bumped into Aunt Leprechaun there and her son Lee. Lee, a year younger than Reg, was getting braces, if memory serves. Aunt Leprechaun and I started chatting. 

Me:  Mini had braces twice. (blah blah, how old were your other kids when they got braces, etc.)  I never had braces, only Marie, and Mike did. (*there were 5 of us, so that means that Ann and Pat never had braces, plus me).

Aunt (who is from Ireland and has 6 siblings):  I think some of my siblings should've had braces but never got them - (she said this with a chuckle and a shrug)

Me:  Hmm, I think one of my siblings needed braces and never got them, too. (It's clear that I'm referring to Pat here, Aunt's husband. He NEEDED braces but never got them because he was told it would interfere with his flute playing. Pat and Aunt met through their shared involvement with Irish music. Pat teased me endlessly when we were kids. He ALWAYS made fun of me for being super tall. I finally called him Bucky Beaver one day. At last, I'd hit a nerve). 

Aunt:  That isn't very funny, Ernie. (walks away abruptly).

I was shocked. Thick skin is a requirement in our family and Aunt L has been part of the family over over 20 years. Her husband is the most active teaser in our family. It seemed weird, because I'd just said the same thing that Aunt Leprechaun had said. It really isn't a secret that Pat needed braces and never opted to get them. I was messing around, a regular occurrence in our family. 

Mini:  Uncle Pat is REALLY good at dishing it out. Everyone in the family is good at laughing at themselves, but Pat never makes fun of himself. He teases all the nieces and nephews endlessly, but he'd never tease one of his own kids. 

Interesting.

Early covid game night:  We were playing a family game. My sibs were group texting. They all have iPhones, and were sharing their emotions, which show up on my Android as a brand new text. 

Tank grabbed my phone after the 80th ping and typed a snarky response to my sister Marie's:  "I want my kids to do a video on tic toc so we can go viral." How are we related? We all laughed at Tank's: 'sounds dumb' or 'that'll never happen' text. Aunt Leprechaun must've found that offensive because she texted 'good luck Marie, hope you go viral.' I never clarified that Tank sent the text, because I DIDN'T CARE. There, full disclosure - my sibs think I'm an ass. I'm OK with that.*

*****

Additional background. When Coach and I were contemplating putting an addition on our first house, I kept looking at houses online in a very swanky neighborhood that I wanted to live in. 

Coach (shaking his head, laughing): WE'RE HAVING ANOTHER BABY. EVERY TIME YOU'RE PREGNANT YOU DRAG ME TO LOOK AT SOME HOUSE OVER THERE THAT'S SMALLER THAN THE HOUSE WE LIVE IN. 

I have no photos to go with this post and about to leave for the airport, but here's a photo of our first house. Halloween 2006. Jawa, Yoda, Princess Leia (the wig is classic but it doesn't show up great), and Chewy. Used this on our Christmas card with:  MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU THIS CHRISTMAS.

I stumbled upon a house online in said Swank-ville. It was outdated. It had the space, but still crazy pricey.  Blaming pregnancy hormones for my fixation. We decided not to do an addition and bought our current house in our same town, not Swank-ville. 

Later, Aunt Leprechaun asked if I could save my boxes. 

Me:  Are you guys planning to move? 

Aunt L:  NOPE. 

She lived down the street from the house we'd just moved out of. We were now across town. We talked about when Mini and her daughter would attend the same school.

I found out Pat and Leprechaun were moving when I saw the sign out front. Can you guess? 

They bought the house I'd been drooling over online. No joke. They had/have no idea. Only Coach knows. Aunt Leprechaun shared that they were disappointed to be forced to buy such a crap house. They'd planned to buy a tear-down mansion also in Swank-ville, but Pat's salary was recently restructured. Uncertainty made them reel it in a bit. So she was slumming it in my dream house. 

I'm not this creative. I can't make this shit up.  

MONDAY IS THE POST THAT STARTED ALL OF THIS - THE ONE THAT CAN'T WRITE ITSELF. HANG IN THERE. IT'S WORTH IT. 

layers to the lake house

I'm making an effort to write shorter posts. You wouldn't know it by this story, SO I'm gonna break this into parts. It's my family of origin nonsense, so I believe many of you already grasp the goofy dynamic. 

In the fall, my dad fell and broke a bone in his ankle. On a Friday he was trying to crawl out of the crawl space after turning off the water to the sprinkler system. 

We were visiting colleges that weekend. On Monday my mom asked if Coach could come look at Dad's ankle because he'd fallen DAYS ago. He wasn't able to weight bare all weekend.  

Coach:  SURE, I CAN LOOK AT IT. HE'LL STILL NEED AN XRAY. 

Sure enough, broken. He landed in a boot.

Later, I said to Mom:  WE LIVE AROUND THE CORNER. THE KIDS ARE HOME E-LEARNING. ONE OF US COULD'VE COME OVER. 

Mom:  I KNOW. YOUR BROTHER PAT IS SO UPSET. (sigh) HE SAID HE'D HAVE COME, BUT HE WAS JUST SO BUSY WITH EVERYTHING IN INDIANA. HE'S REALLY UPSET - HE WOULD'VE COME . . . (repeat phrase, at nauseum)

*she mentioned Pat's intention to come MORE THAN ONCE in the conversation, as if my saying THE.SAME.THING. DIDN'T REGISTER.

*I live about a half mile walk to my folk's house and I have strong teen boys. AVAILABLE. Pat lives about 17 minutes away. 

Me (stupidly taking the bait):  OH, WHAT'S HAPPENING IN INDIANA. DID HE HAVE A WORK CONFERENCE? 

Mom:  Oh, I guess . . . well, maybe you didn't know. (sputter, sputter) They just bought a lake house there. They've just been so busy closing on it, otherwise Pat would've stopped by . . . (me pounding head onto countertop, begging the repetition of Pat's #1 son position to cease).

Mini's reaction to Pat's lake house purchase was hilarious.

Imagine Mini's response when
she learns the house is on a
no wake lake, no tubing allowed.

Mini:  I mean of course I'm jealous, but what on earth are they going to do with a lake house? Those kids don't go outside. They have to be on a tablet or device. Always. If Pat gets a boat, they'd never tube or anything. Totally outside their comfort zone. Plus, they're so fair - they can't ever be in the sun. 

Pat texts me (a few weeks later):  Sorry I didn't let you know about us buying a lake house, we closed on it the day you found out Ed tested positive for covid. It didn't seem like the right time. 

What.the.actual.ef? I don't even understand that sentiment. I couldn't handle the news that you bought a lake house because my symptom-free kid had to figure out where to quarantine? Or maybe the truth is, Mom let it out of the bag, not knowing I'd been kept out of the loop. Things are awkward between my family and Pat's, so apparently he hadn't planned to tell me. 

*I've just decided:  writing a SHORT extra post this week. Either that or this post gets crazy long. Too busy to read ANOTHER post? That's OK - but it'll detail a bit of background I think is essential for 'getting' this situation, AND it'll explain the AWKWARDNESS between Pat's fam and mine that I just alluded to. Peeked your curiosity? Tune in tomorrow. 

Coach and I will never own a lake house. 

A) We can't afford it. I don't wish for my brother's life. At times I try to imagine what it would be like if my folks thought that I, too, walked on water. Ashamed to admit that, but how can I not wonder how that would be? That is SO not my situation. I don't drink the Kool Aid as I once did - vying for a better position, or at least I TRY not to. Clearly my brother thought I couldn't handle the news - he assumed I'd be jealous of him, I guess.

B) When would we use a lake house? Our kids are active with sports and jobs. Mainly in the summer:  JOBS. They earn a butt load of money working their tails off to save for college tuition. Obviously my brother's kids don't need to work. I think working builds character. I for one live for the caddy stories. 

The scene is set. Part II will be the background, and then Monday will be the frustrating bit, because this wasn't frustrating - just odd. 

not a machine & erroneously adding the other Ed

Remember when I joked about how I couldn't possibly:  fly with Curly to Arizona for Nationals of Irish dancing, be home for a few days, drive to Yellowstone, then race home and hop a plane for Dublin, where they were considering re-scheduling Irish dancing world championships? 

Then the stars aligned and they decided NOT to do Worlds in August (usually at Easter). 

Then Yellowstone was cancelled. 

That leaves National Championships in Phoenix. Curly and I leave July 6th late afternoon. Competition the 8th. Fly home the 9th. 

Then a situation popped up that caused me to be out of town this week. Long story to follow - at some point. I get home Monday the 5th and fly out the 6th. Writing this from my remote location while I stress over ALL that I need to do before I leave the 6th.

Backing up the bus to last weekend. Coach was out of town teaching a course in Michigan. I sensed a pout that I hadn't hopped at the chance to accompany him. Normally the draw of an empty hotel room/time to myself all day and dinner with Coach after his teaching duties would be tough to turn down. Often if I tag along, he takes an extra day to relax with me and explore whatever city he's teaching in. But getting called out of town at the last minute for a week the day after his Michigan thing followed by a quick turn around to AZ:  ACCOMPANIMENT DEAL BREAKER. 

I am quite capable of kicking things into overdrive, but I'm NOT a machine. Sheesh. 

It doesn't look bothersome,
but after awhile with
no one claiming it? 

While Coach was away I committed to kicking things into high-ER gear. Laundry. Food prep. Meals for the family. Meals for me to pack. Unseasonably cool weather:  bake-a-thon. 

Saturday night:  all the kids went out. Curly slept at a friend's. Normally when Coach is home, he and I would watch a movie or do something that would feel like a slight departure from tasks. I would temporarily FORGET that the house was a mess, etc.  

Guess what? With no rest for the wicked, the wicked get GROUCHY. 

I believe it was the partial muffin wrapped in a paper towel, inside a baggie on the counter for better part of a week that sent me over the edge. I drafted a group text to my 5 phone owning offspring and Coach to keep him in the loop. 

This wasn't just any text. It was an above average I'll-kick-your-ass mom rant. 

Since his party had started late afternoon, Ed came home shortly after I sent the epic text. I was pounding around the house. Still wiping away tears. How dare they leave their wet things around (remember the day I ran and got caught in the rain - this was later that day). Their wet caddy stuff was tossed on hard wood floors and my wooden buffet while they napped, later racing off to be social. Thoughtless. 

Confused Ed:  IS EVERYTHING OK?

Me:  JUST READ THE TEXT.

Ed:  I DON'T HAVE A TEXT FROM YOU.

I'll cry if I admit how long it took
me to add that writing in this text
 - supposed to say lake house.

A bit later I got a text from a young guy in my contacts, also Ed. Last name also starts with S. He's someone's nephew who works in sports marketing. I've saved his contact in case Lad ever wanted to reach out. I had inadvertently included him on my group family chat instead of the legit Ed. 

Other Ed:  HEY, CAN YOU REMOVE ME FROM THIS PLEASE.

Then, because my kids are hilarious, they continued to respond to the thread chuckling that some random guy ended up being subjected to my rant. Have another collective beer, somewhat-old-enough-to-drink offspring plus old-enough Lad AND STOP RESPONDING. THE GUY ASKED TO BE REMOVED NOT TO GET MORE MESSAGES FROM OUR IDIOT FAMILY MEMBERS.

Me:  OH NOOOO! ED HELP ME. GET THIS POOR GUY OFF MY GROUP TEXT. THIS IS WHY YOU NEVER SAW IT. SHIT!

Ed (who'd had a few adult beverages):  I'LL HANDLE IT. (5 MINUTES LATER) UM, NOT GONNA LIE. SORRY, BUT I ACCIDENTALLY INCLUDED HIM AGAIN. I THINK IT'S YOUR PHONE. HE JUST TEXTED BACK:  STILL ON HERE. BUT I FIXED IT THIS TIME. THE NEW GROUP TEXT NAME IS FAMILY THE REAL DEAL.

I HAVE set up group texts before, but my stupid phone acts like it's an impossible function. It never saves the group, even when I name it. Thus my need to recreate the wheel every-flipping time I send a group text. 

How embarrassing. The next day:  separate issue/huge frustration. That's the day I borrowed a phrase from Ally Bean when she recently posted:  SOME POSTS JUST WRITE THEMSELVES. Next time . . .