Saturday, March 17, 2012

When pigs...jump over shamrocks

You know, sometimes I long for the simple good old days. Days when life moved more slowly and the little things in life were more appreciated.

And then, I see things like this:

I realize then that I was not meant for the good old days. I mean, I don't get this at all. What does this even mean? And why is that shamrock so huge? Or that pig and girl so small?

Anyway, Happy St. Patty's Day from Non-McMommy! Or, O'Nonmommy. Whatever you prefer.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Man up!

Many, many moons ago I used to swim on a swim team. I was never good, but I enjoyed it. In fact, I still adore to swim. I am so happy to have a nephew that loves to swim because it means that I get to go to the pool often!

Lately, I've been trying to swim more, even though being in a swimsuit is tantamount to having my teeth pulled with pliers, in the garage, with no painkillers. Also, being so very blonde, it makes my hair look like this:

No matter, because it feels great to my body and I have an 80 year old ankle (due to repeated injury). Swimming is the best choice for me.

Taking this very seriously, I opted last week to get up and swim at 5 a.m. FIVE A.M.! I rolled out of bed, put on my suit and got to the gym only to find three good old boys waiting to enter the pool. They clearly were very serious about swimming, carrying their apparatus and wearing these:

In case you didn't know, that is Zsa Zsa Gabor's husband, Prince Von A-hole.

So, the Speedo clad men, carrying their timers, kickboards, paddles, and other swimming gear looked at me like "What are you doing in OUR POOL?! Get out of here, fat lady in the swim suit! You are not welcome and you are going to slow us down with your pathetic swim skills."

Being the self-confident, assured single hottie that I am, I immediately thought about bolting and forgetting it all together.  I felt like I might break out in shingles just thinking about how they were going to be going so fast, and I was going to be the tortoise-like intruder.  I worried about if my back fat was showing and if they were laughing at my bed head.

But, given that I had gotten out of bed just for this, and had no other workout clothes with me, I decided to persevere.  I beat them to the three lanes of the pool, and hopped in quickly so they wouldn't my body.  I could literally read their thoughts as they thought about who was going to have to share a lane with ME. I am not a fan of sharing a lane, and didn't fancy doing it with Michael Phelps's cousins.

The last one to the lanes saw he was stuck with me and he literally drooped his shoulders.  I wanted to hang myself by my goggles.

And then...

...the man pulled out...


Nose plugs!

Real men don't wear nose plugs!  Neither to expert swimmers.  Or, you know, anyone that isn't these girls:

Seriously.  And I'm still single?

Anyway, I shared a lane with the nose plugger.  And I swam easily 4 times faster and farther than he did.  All those silent smack talk conversations were for nothing!

At 5:55 a.m., I left the pool feeling more awesome and confident than ever.


Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Isn't It Ironic?

(Don't you think?)

At the advice of my medical care provider, I'm going to try and go off of dairy for a week.  I'm pretty sure that inside, a part of me died at the suggestion.  The ironic part is that I've only been eating cheese for two years.  I didn't even like cheese!  Now, I enjoy it very much and will miss it.  I don't care for butter, but I've been trying to eat it a little more because it's better than margarine, and that will have to go, too.  I just had my first bowl of Cheerios with almond milk and it's just not the same.  How will I ever choke down a salad without my beloved combo of feta sprinkles, cranberries and sliced almonds (no dressing - blech)?

Goodbye, creamy wonderful milk in the glass bottles from the local dairy, Babybel cheeses, Babybel reduced fat spreadable cheese wedges, butter with olive oil.

Excuse me while I go find a trumpet to play "Taps" to my cheese drawer.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

For Dad

Two years ago, my boss walked into my classroom and changed my life forever when she said "You need to go call your mom.  I'll watch your class."  I asked if it was about my dad and she did this little head wiggle, hesitated and said "...You just need to go call your mom."

My life would never be the same.  I knew it from the way her head wiggled.

The thing is, things were already changing.  In fact, it is safe to say that things in Non-Mommyland had gone from Threat Level Orange to Threat Level Red in a short time.  There I was, a single woman with two college degrees and a miserable life.  I hated where I lived.  A major, major part of my life hurt me more deeply than she'd ever understand.  The people I worked with were ugly and mean.  I was angry and scared with a boss that I felt I couldn't trust.  I felt like my life was wasting away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  A new job wasn't an option.  I was trapped.  And sinking into a sea of despair.  There I was, a grown woman, and I would leave my parents' house on the weekends bawling at the idea of returning to my job and the town I was living in.

It came to head one day during a math lesson when I went down like an anvil.  By the end of the night, I was in my home, sobbing, unable to breathe, calling my mother and best friend/cousin over and over in hopes that maybe somehow one of them would magically be able to fix it all.

A few weeks later, I became ill with what seemed a normal cold.  Given my high stress levels, my body didn't stand much of a chance.  I contracted H1N1 and became ill very quickly.  I developed bronchitis, pneumonia and laryngitis.  I was too risky to be put in the hospital, so I laid in my bed, alone, for two weeks.  I was the sickest I have ever, ever been.  In fact, one night I laid in my bed, too weak to move and felt like this was it - I really was going to pass away.  After I recovered from the worst of it, the laryngitis lingered for a month.  I was unable to speak and had to teach by writing on the board, using the SmartBoard and typing, or whispering "Tell the class that I said..." into a child's ear.

My spirit was low, as was my body.


A few months later, I woke up in the middle of the night with severe nausea.  By the morning, I was in great pain.  I was able to take a shower, go to the doctor for blood tests, and return to my home in time to find out that I was suffering from appendicitis.  I stood with my forehead against the wall in such intense pain I could hardly see straight.  My parents came as soon as they were able, took me to the hospital, and I had what ended up being a very costly appendectomy.

Can stress cause appendicitis?  Medically speaking, probably not.  Do I attribute it to that?  Yes.

This brings us to a few weeks later when the assistant principal came in and told me to call my mother.  Deep in my soul, I knew.  In fact, I'd just had a dream that he had died.  I woke up worried about what would happen if he died in a hotel room and no one knew.  That weekend, I had gotten out a copy of their will to read it to see what would happen if he died.

So, my father, on a business trip, left his hotel room, went to a Panera Bread for lunch, got his food, opened his laptop, and it was all over as he knew it.

It had been just a typical Wednesday morning.  I'd had no idea that I'd end the day in another state, watching my poor father pass away while muttering "Oh, Dad.  Oh, Dad."


Two years.

I still miss him, incredibly.  But because of his death, so much has changed for me.  I've moved to somewhere that I love.  I've taken a new job.  The new job is a much, much healthier environment for me.  I am making friends that are so funny and nice.  My coworkers are pleasant, friendly and not mean and cold.  I've found a church in my new area, and I love it.

I feel like a new person.  I feel like the woman I used to be.  The woman I was meant to be.  Life is not perfect, no.  Struggles still suck and I'm not naive enough to think I will never go through hard times because I've made changes.  And yet, through the incredible pain, good has come.  Plans were coming together for me long before I could ever see it.  I miss my father every minute of every day.  But his passing gave me the courage, the desire, the opportunity to make life changes.  And I couldn't be happier.  I only wish he could see, and know that I'm ok.

He'd want the best for me.

But really?  He was the best.


Thursday, March 8, 2012

Suit down!

I got roped into being a coach for a 5K thing.  If you knew me in real life, you'd know how freaking hilarious that is.  Yesterday, I had to change clothes for the Dumb Run before I left school.  While my little tattlers were at recess, I changed and went to pick up the children from the playground.  When I came out in non-professional clothing, one of my students came running to me.  Breathlessly, he said "Oh, Ms. Non-Mommy, you look BEAUTIFUL."

I was wearing Adidas pants and a D.A.R.E. shirt.  Yes, that D.A.R.E.

Why do I even bother?!?!

Saturday, March 3, 2012

I Do Not Like Them, Sam I Am

So yesterday was Dr. Seuss' (Seuss's?) birthday.  Now that I work with a younger grade and am on a massive hallway filled with first, second and third grade classes I am WELL AWARE that it is Dr. Seuss'ssssssssss (this is driving me crazy, I never get this grammatical rule!) birthday.  Apparently, there are rules when you work with young kids:

1.  You celebrate Dr. S's birthday.

2.  You wear stupid hats.

3.  You serve food in the cafeteria and call it Hop on Pop chicken and Somethingorother Kazoie Rotini.

4.  YOU MAKE GREEN EGGS AND HAM.  Both in the cafeteria and in the classroom.  And blonde teachers that hate eggs and the smell of eggs curl up in the fetal position.

You also send your sister an email that is exactly this:

If you didn't know, today is Dr. Seuss' birthday.  I have plenty of thoughts on this that I will blog, but this morning they served green eggs and ham for breakfast.  Before they could even do that, we had three different kids hurl outside of my classroom.  And then the other 600 kids tracked through it.

If anyone hurls green eggs and ham in my room, I might die.

Yes.  There were eggs strewn all the way down the hallway.  They weren't green, because the green breakfast hadn't even been served yet.  They were eggs a la vomit.  And then later, the surrounding classrooms cooked green eggs and ham.

To quote my mother, "There is a reason that he would not eat them in a box or with a fox."

(I'll explain why I'm a Fuddy Duddy about Dr. S's birthday at a later date!)


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...