NY Pt. 3: Let's Bring it on Home

Another early morning was my fate on Sunday. Again the public bathroom. We left behind all those who would be making the drive as Mom, Granddaddy, David and I left the retreat center for Peakskill to return the rental car. I imagined a place like Peakskill to be lovely based on its name. Wrong. From Peakskill I endured the most terrifying taxi ride in my life, and this girl has been in taxis in foreign countries. If I told you I fell onto my knees upon reaching the train station, I would be lying but it would have been an appropriate gesture. After a chilly wait, we were finally NYC bound upon the train. My mom and I amused ourselves with talk of crotchless Spanx, and David feared for our sanity. At Grand Central, we successfully loaded all of us and our luggage into a taxi and headed back to LaGuardia. Not much of a wait to check in at the airport. But when I did, good news awaited me: FIRST CLASS, BABY! That's right, I am no longer a first class virgin. Some guilt since mom and granddaddy were in coach. But not too much. I ate my free lunch on real dishes and relished my fatty seat. Once we arrived in MEM and made it to our gate, lo and behold there was Fantasia from American Idol. First class and a celebrity sighting? Awesome. Flight to TUP drama free except for a HUGE drop as we hit an air pocket. All in all, extremely smooth traveling. Which of course means I'm screwed on my next trip.

NY Pt. 2: Pomp, Circumstance and a Sniper Too

Saturday morning came very early following such a poor night of sleep. After showering in a stall alongside my mom and grandma, it was time to get ready in the big public bathroom. Fun times, they were. We piled into 3 cars to head toward post (aka campus). After all licenses checked and faces confirmed, we headed just inside the gate to park and catch a shuttle. THE LAMEST SHUTTLE ON EARTH. It took us 100 yards and let us out at the bottom of a hill. And we had 3 grandparents with us. Luckily we were able to get the grandparents on a golf cart and taken to the top of the hill. But then due to our gate assignment we still had to usher them around the end of the stadium and up another hill, only to of course have our bags inspected and to be wanded. Because that's my dream is to be standing there in a dress and be wanded. Then I, as official leader, led everyone up another incline and through many bodies to the restrooms. After that task was accomplished, we began our decent to our seats. When we finally reached Row V, we realized that had we gone in the gate the grandparents had been dropped at, our walked would have been tremendously shorter and we'd only have had to climb up a few stairs. Live and learn, and ASK QUESTIONS; don't just follow the ticket.

Next came the waiting because by the time we were seated we had at least an hour wait before the procession (so even longer until the ceremony began). Smart girl that I am had packed my paperback in my hobo purse, so I was okay reading except for the poor posture associated with bleachers. The sun came out at this point, and rivers of sweat were running down my legs. Mercifully, though, after 30 mins of sun, the clouds rolled in as did the breeze. Perfect weather. At some point my grandmother decided she needed to go to the restroom again, so up we climed, then descended again. I tell you, if felt like climing Everest. We swore we would not climb them again and would use the alternate route on the way out.

Finally, we spotted the cadets marching up to get in formation. If there is one thing those cadets can do, it's march impressively. I know that all graduations are full of pomp and circumstance as I have been to numerous high school graduations and a handful of college as well (I do have 27 first cousins, after all). But there is no comparison to the marching and security that accompanies this kind of event. Turns out, I too think snipers are cool. I have a picture of one. I also have pictures of the Secretary of Defense who gave the commencement address. And it was a great speech. I mean, it wasn't the usual "you will go out and be leaders" crap. This was serious stuff. This was "you chose to enroll in a time of war, knowing you would most likely leave in a time of war; go out and protect our freedom." Now granted, I am paraphrasing big time, but you get the drift. It was impossible not to be moved by this. I cannot imagine the sense of duty each of those now 2LTs must feel.

We were able to follow along and know when Jeb's name would be called to receive his diploma. They gimped up his name, no surprise, but David and I were able to snap pictures of his back as he received it. Why did this emotional girl not have tissue?? Thank goodness for sunglasses.

After the hat toss and the chaos that is the kiddos going after them, we anxiously waited for Jeb to meet us in the stands. I have great pics of him making his way to us, a huge beaming smile on his face.

We were finally able to begin our treck back to the car. This time we needed to get across post to the Catholic Chapel. However, they had some roads blocked, so mom decided to exit post and come in another entrance. Horrible idea. The traffic was backed up at the other entrance, and we spent over 30 mins trying to get from one side to the other.

When we finally arrived at the Chapel, we got ready for the pinning ceremony. These ceremonies are much smaller and much more informal, but impressive all the same. Jeb took his oath, and my parents pinned on his 2LT bars. More tears. I was able to get a 4 min video of this ceremony. He made a speech, and in it he acknowledge me as his second mom who helped raise him. It was an extremely wonderful moment in my life.

Next we had lunch in the rectory with some other friends who had traveled to support him and see him graduate. It was a very relaxing time following all the ceremonies. Soon after we headed back to the retreat center to rest and then have a BBQ. It was low key but wonderful. Unfortunately mom and I were on cleanup duty, but I got to operate the coolest commercial dishwasher. A home model is now on my wish list.

NY Pt. 1: Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Before I could even get out of the house Friday to the airport, my mom and dad had called several times to pass on information should they not be reachable later. One of those calls from my dad went something like this: "Hey, I'm standing here at the parade, and there are snipers everywhere. It's so cool!" Uh, what? Snipers? Non-news watcher that I am was not aware of those dudes who got arrested not far from there for attempted terrorist activities. Thanks, dad, for cluing me in to all this hours before I come up there! Oh well. So our plane...excuse me, our TINY plane, left Tupelo at noon. Our friend David was with me. The rest of the travel itinerary for Friday looked like this:

• Flight 1 from TUP to MEM smooth.
  
• Perfect length layover in MEM.
  
• Flight 2 from MEM to LaGuardia also smooth.
  
• Luggage made it.
  
• Taxi from LaGuardia to Grand Central Station.
• Enough time at GCS to get a sandwich and get on the train to Garrison (1 hour ride).
  
• Taxi waiting for us at Garrison station to take us to the retreat center.

Unfortunately, our day of smoothness ended there. My instructions at that point were, "Your room is on the 3rd floor. Just look for the room with no one in it." Um, how about a room number, all of you who would not be presented when I arrive. All rooms on the 3rd floor appeared to be taken (clothes, bags, messed up beds) except the room THROUGH WHICH ALL MEN HAD TO WALK TO USE THE RESTROOM. Was I sleeping in that room? NO WAY. So David and I hung out in the lobby. The hot, non air conditioned lobby, where we were continuously questioned about why we appeared to be stranded in the lobby.

Now seems like a good time to explain where we were staying. For the sake of cheapness (hello, it is my family), we were staying at a Franciscan retreat center. Dorm style. Made for men on one floor, women on another -- though we did not have to observe the segregated floors. Each room, with two exeptions per floor, had 8 single beds in it. The women's bathrooms had 8 showers and toilets. And these were the tiniest showers I've ever seen in my life. They made me long for the gym showers.

So, finally it was decided that for Friday night we would stay on the 2nd floor in the room with my parents...and my grandparents and my 2nd cousin and her husband. Eight beds, eight peeps. And, as I believe I've mentioned once or twice, I am a very light sleeper. Read that as crazy in my head, can hear a person move his/her foot across the sheet and want to lose my mind. First night, BAD.

Blogalicious

You do know we could all drown in blogs, right? It seems like every day I find out about someone else's blog. Wowzer! So anyway, thanks for reading mine. :)

I have some friends whose blog is purely a record of their children's lives. Others whose blog is a weight loss journal. I've even seen ones based purely on house decorating. Mine is none of these things and all of these things. It is a snapshot into my mind, which is sometimes a very boring place and sometimes a very scary place. So if you ever wonder how I choose my topics, it's whatever is on my mind that day. Lots of Elliott, lots of weight struggles, a sprinkling of Doug...tee hee.

I'm currently focusing on EASY VERSUS HARD. A few years ago (2005 maybe?) I read the Dr. Phil dieting book. Stop laughing so that you can keep reading. Anyhoo, the premise of his plan stuck in my mind if not in my habits. Easy is bad. Hard is good. If you have to take time to prepare a meal, or even a snack such as cutting up an apple, by length of time alone it should point you toward a better decision. Amount of time spent in a drive thru? 5 mins. Amount of time spent on supper? At least 30 mins. Easy versus hard. Accepting that lunch invite with friends? Easy. Packing a bag and a lunch, going to the gym, changing clothes, getting sweaty nasty, taking a shower, getting redressed, eating at your desk? Hard. Sitting on the couch? Easy. Getting up and doing anything that exerts energy? Hard.

Ok, mind, translate to all regions of body!

The Wisdom of Bob

I have mixed feelings about the movie "What About Bob?" There are parts of it that are not entertaining, and then there is the genius of the Baby Steps scenes. I'm trying to live by Bob's therapist's advice. Baby steps turning down lunch invites...baby steps out the door...baby steps into the gym...baby steps into the locker room...baby steps onto the treadmill...baby steps jogging...you get the idea. But mainly the idea is for me to remember that it will take lots of baby steps to overcome the gigantic missteps I have taken for almost 9 years. Baby steps AWAY from the Dr. Pepper...

Two Terrors and a Toilet

Saturday night we had a crawfish boil at our house for approximately 30 people. The rain tried hard to ruin our time, but we persevered with tents and a segregated party (men outside, women inside, HA!). As the party was winding down and after most people had headed home, I suddenly smelled the strong aroma of hand soap coming from 1 room away. Huh? you may say. But Elliott has gotten in trouble on several occassions for playing with hand soap and shaving cream in the back bathroom. So when I realized I smelled hand soap followed 1/2 second later by the realization that I heard water running, I jumped from the table and bolted toward the bathroom. Where I found two 3-year-olds with wet heads, passing a towel back and forth between them. I started yelling, when my son volunteered the following information: "We stuck our heads in the toilet." Reaction to come in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1: huh? you what?....HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Penny came to investigate, and she also started laughing. We could not scold for laughing. Corgan then volunteered, "I did not put my face in, just my head." The investigation continued, and when I asked what happened to (a) all the soap and (b) the top of the soap dispenser, she proudly announced (a) "we put the soap in the toilet" and (b) "we flushed the top down the toilet." Miraculously, the toilet seems ok. Crossing fingers it will remain that way. As for the dysfunctional twins, I fear this is only a suggestion of what is to come from them. Bring on the Clairol.

DANCE!

FUMC CDC 2009 End of Year Program

The introvert comes alive.

Parking Phobia

Phobia #3: Parking and Backing Up. I am miffed that there is no cool word for this phobia. It's much more logical than some of these others: http://www.phobialist.com/

No joke, I have a serious parking and backing up phobia. It's so bad that when we were looking at houses, all driveways and parking situations had to be factored in. And when I watch House Hunters, I'm often overheard saying, "There is no way I could buy that house. DID YOU SEE THAT DRIVEWAY??!!" I'm pretty sure I know where this phobia originated, but for fear of self-revelation of guilt, I will keep that information to myself. So anyway, I stopped at Wal-Mart this morning (see previous post), and some idiot parked next to me after I went in the store. Please explain to me why it was necessary to BACK their Chevy Cavalier in between me and the buggy return, STICKING WAY OUT OF THE PARKING SPACE. I tried THREE times to back out, and every time it looked like scraping that damn Cavalier would be the end result. When I tell you I was nearly hyperventilating, I am not exaggerating. I couldn't go forward because of the black Lexus in front of me. I finally was able to manuever The Mother Ship forward and to the right IN BETWEEN the Lexus and the buggy return. I felt as if I'd escaped a perilous death in that moment.

G.I. Jane Pt. 2: Going Commando

"Sorry I was late for work today. I had to stop at Wal-Mart and buy some underwear."

Doctors, Diagnoses and Depleted Wallets

In the past two years, our family of 3 has seen the following types of doctors:

• Pediatrician
• Orthopedic
• Radiologist
• Internal Medicine
• Endocrinologist
• Gynecologist, times 3 if you count a retired old man who was serving as our general doctor (ha)
  
• Osteopathy

And today, Dermatologist. For the 3 year old. And this from a "healthy" family. I would like to retain my hard earned money, thank you very much. I would not like to repeat the $1300+ in medical bills (AFTER insurance) that I paid in 2008.

Battle Bluejean

In what is apparently very normal for a little boy, Elliott has trouble every year transitioning from bluejeans to shorts. Last year by the end of winter/beginning of spring, he was down to 2 pairs of bluejeans, and the repeated washing was shrinking them rapidly. I finally got him into shorts after convincing him they were hurting his tummy from being too tight and I packed them away. This year the battle has proven to be even harsher. On nights preceding short days, I have to prep him, and yet he still puts up a fight the next day. Even the teacher made mention of him -- the most hot-natured kid in the entire daycare -- not wearing shorts. Hello, losing battle. Over the weekend we were pretty successful seeing as how Mami and Daddy were both wearing shorts.

It's really no surprise coming from the kid who will not wear sweatpants, warm up pants, pajamas (daycare dress up weeks), or BROKEN jeans out of the house. Broken jeans aka ripped or holy jeans. I try to get him to wear them to the country or to play in the yard...oh no. How dare I be such an indecent mother.

Additional Hairdresser Needed

Elliott: Mami, your legs are pokey-pokey.

Me: (Giggling) I'm sorry.

Elliott: You need a haircut.

Me: (ROARING LAUGHTER) I need a haircut on my legs? You mean I need to shave them?

Elliott: Yes, you need to shave them. They are pokey-pokey.

Postal Problems

When Doug and I moved from Stk to WP, we lived in my great-grandmother's former apartment in the house my dad would soon inherit. On the front porch of our very large apartment were two doors and two wall-mounted mailboxes. Not long after we moved in, the ever so bright mailman returned my box of checks -- checks that I needed to pay bills with and subsequently was late on at least one -- with the following reason: "No mail receptacle present." The rant that ensued was one of my finest. Not only did we have a mail receptacle, we had TWO OF THEM. PICK ONE, YOU FREAK. You can see that 8 years has not dulled my feelings on the matter.

Two residences later, we have new mail issues. Apparently, we either had a substitute carrier on Friday and Saturday or we have a new, and incredibly stupid much like the one 8 years ago, mailperson. Because our mail is being left ON THE FRONT STOOP. Between the screen door and front door. Yes, it is a bit odd that our mailbox is on the side of our house, but that has never confused anyone before now. I mean, can you imagine that the Post Office would let us NOT HAVE A MAILBOX? Really? Who graded this person's civil servant test? I call for a retroactive flunking.