4th time's a charm

 A few weeks ago I came home on a very hot, very sickly, very tiring day to find my house leaking.  It is universally bad news when you notice water seeping out between the foundation and the brick, all along the front of the house.  I got inside to find the water heater actively flooding the place.  There was at least an inch of water in the entryway and entry way closet, in the hall, the bathroom,  the hall closet and the closest bedroom.  It had also seeped into (a little less deep)  into the farther bedroom, the other hall closet, the living room, and the dog area in front of the steps.  

The thing is this, we’ve been in this house 10 years, and the new one is the 4th water heater in that time.  Silly!  I call nonsense!  The first one was our own fault.  The inspector said the water heater was pretty old, we should replace it.  We did not - so when that one went out we just sucked it up.  We bought and installed a new one, which lasted about 3 years.  It was still under warranty, so we got a replacement, which you guessed it, was still under warranty when it went out.  I said, maybe we shouldn’t go with the same model- there is obviously something wrong with the way our house interacts with the machine. We are right next to the water treatment plant. My hubby thinks maybe our water pressure is higher than normal on that account.  We now have a fancier  model which supposedly turns its self off when the flood starts.  We’ll see about that in a few years- I guess.

FIFA in DFW

 There were signs all over town that say “We are Dallas!”  In fact, we are NOT Dallas.  in the past there have been signs up that say, “Don’t Dallas my Arlington!”   The Dallas Cowboys play in Arlington, and AT&T Stadium, which was temporarily renamed “Dallas Stadium” for FIFA.  We hosted 9 games here. The first game was The Netherlands and Japan.  What a fun crowd!  There was an ocean of orange for the fan march and quite a fun looking party in the streets, an another party in Walmart!  The Japanese were equally as pleasant, so congenial and  humble.  We saw some fans in the grocery and they bowed, and we bowed, and they bowed and we bowed our way right out of the fresh produce section.  Then the Japanese completed their ritual of cleaning up the stadium after their game.  How lovely!  The second game was England Croatia (I think?)

I was waiting to pull out into the road when the game let out and a whole parade of fans walked in front of me.  I saw that most of them were England fans, and let me tell you, they looked defeated. It was 97 degrees F and at least the same percentage of humidity. It was miserable.  They were slogging along, practically swimming through the moist, hot air and puddles of their own perspiration. They were pouring water on their heads and doing their best not to melt.  Poor duckies.  Later I found out England had won!  This kind of weather will certainly take it out of you.

I'm okay!

The other day I parked in a new place and decided to take a shortcut to my destination. I quickly realized not all shortcuts are created equal. 

I fell in a hole. 

Fortunately, it was a short hole. ( The hole was covered in grass okay?)

I fell in about mid-calf and pitched forward to scrape my knees. Nothing major injured, just a bump and a scrape. 

The first thing I did when I fell down was look around to see if anyone was looking. 

There is nothing worse than falling down when someone is looking.  No matter what happens next, if someone is looking, it will be humiliating.  If they just look at you and do nothing- terrible, rude! Humiliating.  If they laugh, horrible, rude! Humiliating.  If they rush over and say “Oh my goodness, are you OKAY?!” Ugh- nice, kind- Humiliating. 

Nobody was looking, so I stood up, dusted myself off, and walked to my destination with the confidence of a woman of a certain age who did not, indeed, just fall into a hole.  My left knee does hurt - little bit.

🙁"I’m okay!" (As my 8-year-old yells as she keeps running away when she falls or trips, but doesn't need attention.)

A break up story or two

I got an unexpected letter from a penpal I’ve been writing to for about a year.  We’ve been sending back and forth regularly, exchanged Christmas packages- been having a good time and all- so I never suspected it was a break up letter.  In fact it WAS a break up letter!  It was all very grown up, “It’s not you, it’s me- I’m too busy, too distracted, I’ve lost the joy of letter writing, I’m closing my PO Box, don’t write back!” Well- there’s that!  You know when someone breaks up with you, and they say all the grown up polite things to say, but part of you still wonders, did I do something wrong?  It got me thinking about all the times that someone broke up with me, and the different types of breakups. 

There is:

1. It’s not you, it’s me.

2. It’s definitely you, go away.

3. We’ve changed, it’s just not the same anymore.

4. The situation has changed, it’s not sustainable.

And of course

5. Ghosting- just avoiding the other person completely. Can you think of any other break up types?  Do you have a breakup story that doesn’t break your heart you want to share?  :) 

Here’s another break up example: One day I was getting home when these two Latter-day Saints missionaries came up and asked if I had time to talk about Jesus.  I said I did, and we went into the house to chat with my husband.  They were very nervous young men who stumbled through their information, then sweated a good bit as we asked them all manner of off-script questions about their faith, their belief system, their understanding of scripture etc.  After about an hour they said, "It was a pleasure talking to you, may we come visit with you again this time next week?” We said, "Yes, please do.”  They did not look relieved. The next week, at the appointed time, two new missionaries showed up.  They explained it was a normal rotation, but these two young men were far more confident than the previous two.  They told us things, we didn’t believe those things, we told them things, they told us they didn’t believe those things . . .  a good time was had by all, and after an hour, they said, ‘It was a pleasure talking to you, may we come visit with you again this time next week.”  We said, “Yes, please do,” and they walked away with a plan to convert us.  It went on like this for about a year.  Every once in a while we’d get a new missionary, but one of the pair was always there to break  the new one in and warn him about us. They were trying to convert us, we were trying to convert them, we all knew it was an excellent exercise in patience  and persuasion and planned our next meeting with a smile.    Eventually, after about a year we got a no-nonsense missionary.  He was not having it.  After two visits with us he said, “I don’t think this is working out for us, coming to see you is not the best use of our resources, so this will be our last visit.”  So- that’s how the LDS broke up with us.  They never came back.  I think we may have been black listed. 

nice rock!

I got the living room painted.  My husband tried to talk me into a relaxing pale lavender, or blue- but I was in the mood for pink- so . . .  it is so pink now.  It’ is somewhat ridiculous, but I still love it.  I kind of giggle to myself each time I walk into the room.  It is SO pink. Since they were painting we had to move all the furniture around- many treasures were found.  On one shelf I found a rock.  I have no recollection of putting this rock on a hard-to-reach shelf- doesn’t mean I didn’t do it- but it could mean one of my daughters did it.  It seems I have passed on my passion for  nature treasures. “Oh, look how pretty this leaf is!  Isn’t this an interesting stick? That is a nice rock!”  So upon finding this rock my first thought was, “Oh! Nice rock!”  (Of course.)  My second, more questionable thought was “I should paint underwear on this rock!”  My third thought was, “Spontaniously thinking I should paint underwear on rocks is probably a sign of why I don’t have very many friends.”  Then I went on living my life.   I have not painted the underwear on the rock, yet.  🙂

the loss of consolations

 The internet was out earlier today.  It was the second time this week, and that, in addition to the information that my 8 year old daughter’s favorite taco place closed down, and that I refused to take her to get conciliatory donuts, sent her into a state of profound sadness.  There were tears, then she just left.  I thought she had gone to play a game, but I found her later in my bed, all tucked in and sleeping like a sad little- internet-less, taco-less, donut-less princess.  Poor little cookie.

I think if a ubiquity of sparrows really came to my door, I would totally Freak Out.

a pack, a package?

I dreamed I was delivering packages. My next stop was a door guarded by a pack? /package? Let's go with a package of weenie dogs. They were menacing me with their tiny sharp teeth, their bitty 3-inch legs, and their adorable velvety floppy ears. I was feeling brave, so I just walked up there big as life, and they attacked with German precision. That, of course, freaked me out, so I lifted my foot for a great kick! I woke up with my leg in the air and my husband asking why I kicked him. I mumbled something about attack weenies, rolled over, and went back to sleep. 

Not a murder in the night

My youngest came downstairs to get ready for school, and she was covered in blood.  It was wiped across her forehead and cheek, crusted on her nose, and splotched and splattered all down the front of her shirt.  It was all over her hands and under her fingernails.  It seriously looked like there had been a murder in the night.  I said, “What happened?!”

She said, “Nothing, I just got up.”

I said,  “Uh- are you okay?”
She said, “Yeah, why?”

I said, “Well, you’ve got something on your shirt.”

She looked at her shirt and said, “Huh.”

Like waking up covered in blood is totally normal.

I told her to go wash her face and hands.

I said, “Well, let's change you out of that shirt.”  While I got her dressed for school, she had put her “Long Cat” down. Long Cat is a long - well- cat.  It’s about 3 feet long and it is a nice soft fabric and cylindrical pillow form. After she was dressed, I handed Long Cat back, and she noticed that he, too, had blood spots, and she said, “Oh man!  Long Cat has blood on him!” 

Clearly, waking up inexplicably covered in blood oneself is perfectly acceptable, but getting a few spots on Long Cat- NOT OK!

I said, “How do you think you got all this blood on your shirt and Long Cat?”
She said, “I don’t know!” Not at all concerted about the situation, but laser-focused on the fate of Long Cat.

I said, “Well, I think you must have had a bloody nose in the night, so get some tissue and blow to make sure there’s not more up there.”

"But Long Cat!"

"Okay, go put him and your shirt in the laundry; I'll try to get all the blood out."

Adventures with Fart Face

 Here’s a little story from yesterday-

My middle daughter wants a doll called a Fuggler.  It is as ugly as it sounds.  They come in all different designs of ugly- she showed me three designs she would be pleased with.  So- I went fuggler hunting yesterday.  I went to two Five Belows and Walmart. The first Five Below was a bust.  Walmart had some fugglers, but not the exact ones she had pointed out.  I considered it for a while, and since one of them was somewhat similar, and its name was “Fart Face,” I thought maybe this would be a good alternative.  I threw it in the cart. 

The toy section is in the back of the store, so as I walked all the way to the front to check out, I kept hearing some strange noises.  It was pretty consistent and seemingly loud since I could hear it over the music in my earbuds.  I stopped pushing my wonky-wheeled cart to take my earbud out and listen for the strange noise.  It turned out to be a steady stream of fart noises coming from my cart- coming- more specifically from “Fart Face.” 

I didn’t know why Fart Face was farting, but I guessed he was motion-activated and the wonky wheel going round- and bumpity-round was triggering for him.  What could I do, though?  Farters gotta fart. 

So I put my earbuds back in and continued on.  I needed some  milk, so all through the dairy aisle I could tell other people could hear it and were doing their best to NOT LOOK at me.  I wondered if I buried him under my other purchases if it would muffle him- but then I wondered if it would be even worse if they couldn’t see the ugly fart-face doll to know it wasn’t me! 

My face and my butt got tighter and tighter as I made my way to the front of the store, all the time thinking that my crazy kid better appreciate this.  I got to the front and threw that little turd on the belt and said, “This thing has been farting all through the store!”  The cashier looked at it and said, “Oh yeah- Fart Face, that’s a good one.”  

Ugh