AS IF!

I told him I had WAY too many things to look at while I was driving. My personal cell (including email, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest), my Blackberry (instant messages, emails, calendar entries), my iPod (podcast during morning show radio commercials), makeup (don’t judge–we were running behind this morning!), swim bag (did I remember my goggles for swimming at lunch today?)… Plus I was thirsty and had to get my water bottle from the back seat!

I know. He didn’t think it was funny either. I told him my theory about MomMom, he still blamed me.

But I know better. My current suspect is Paul. He has had his eye on a new reciever for MONTHS now. I think he rigged up a system so that whenever I went to the ATM (I was leaving the bank drive-through when I was stabbed), the weapon would deploy. Just to punish me for withdrawing money.

The other theory I have with Paul as the prime suspect is that he thinks I am fat and knew when I got cash I was heading straight for the Pepsi machine. Its got to be him, look how shady he is:

The goatee TOTALLY shouts "I DID IT!"

So this morning I stopped for an errand and when I was pulling back onto the road, the tire sounded LOUD. I pulled over, opened the door and heard PSHHHHHHHHT. I immediately slammed the door and made a break for it. I was only half mile from work, I could totally make it and be working while I waited for AAA to come (they don’t call me Susie Efficient for nothing). You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die? That didn’t happen to me. But similar to that, as I started to feel the car riding on the wheel rim, Paul giving me non-stop shit for weeks flashed before my eyes. I obeyed my 3rd instinct and pulled over. In case you are keeping a list, my 2nd instinct was to drive into the man made lake toward death so my fun life could replace Paul’s lecture in my last moments on Earth. Then I figured the lake was only about half up to my door, I would live so really  would only block out part of Paul’s yapping so I dismissed that thought. [First instinct you ask? Make a run for it--please keep up, people.] I pulled over and put on the hazards.

In hindsight I feel like I was very mature in my response. Until about 3 years, 3 months ago, 2 weeks and 4 days ago I would have called my dad. You know–because he could be very helpful when he is in Florida or Indiana and I am in NC. But I did what every mature, professional, with-it woman would do. I called my husband and cursed at him VERY LOUDLY. He responded appropriately (i.e. offering to come meet me), I declined and hung up to call AAA.

AAA Ed was a gem, really. He was very concerned when he showed me the tire with the uber long metal piece sticking out of it, bent at an awkward angle. He was convinced I had some pretty formidable foes–mafia, gang member, disgruntled employee? I immediately thought of the geriatric perp responsible for this. Sweet, old soon-to-be-89-year-old my ass. You see, each year MomMom gets Paul and I a membership to AAA. You know how the elderly like to feel “relevant” and “appreciated.” The only logical explanation for “my accident” is that because she was feeling a bit ignored lately and in a fit of demented rage (ok, she officially does not have dementia, but after only 3 years, 3 months ago, 2 weeks and 4 days of being married to Paul, I think I have dementia so naturally she must be a little touched after 36 years of him, right?), she snuck out last night, drove an hour from The Home to our place (don’t even start on the “she doesn’t drive at night” shenanigans–she’s got you fooled too, right?), broke into our garage (I am sure Paul sweetly gave her a spare key back in the day–she only has pretended to lose things to throw us off the scent), planted the shank to implode at  j  u  s  t  the right time…

[...wait for it...]

…so I would have to call AAA….

[...wait for it...]

then thank her profusely in front of everybody at her birthday bash Friday night.

To which she would ask me the story of how it happened, put her hand over her heart and say, “Oh, Susan. Bless your heart.”

I know she looks sweet. You telling me her cane is just a cane too? Have you never seen a Bond movie? Sheesh!

This is why The South will NOT rise again.

Look very carefully at this photo–looks like a pretty sweet salad bar, right? I do love me a salad bar. Now look to the far side of this delightful buffet. Yes, that’s right.

LOOK AT THE MAN WITH NO SHIRT ON.

How does it seem ok to let your belly hairs graze my croutons inches away when they have plexiglass blocking your breath 2 feet away from the romaine? Not to mention it was 1000000 degrees so sweat was probably rolling off the dude into the Italian dressing. or deoderant dropping off his armpit hair into the cauliflour. I expressed my outrage to Paul and his sister. I probably even pointed my Yankee finger at the topless salad-eer. All I got was a shrug from Paul, laughter from Elizabeth and from each of them came:

“Yep, welcome to Myrtle Beach.”

The next choice was UBER exciting b/c it was the first book I read on my NEW IPAD (yes, you have to scream it every time you type “NEW IPAD” for the first year—it’s in the EULA contract). This was a big leap for me—I love the feel of books (hardback and paperback), I love the smell of books (I don’t care if someone told me that smell is actually the pages decaying, I want a perfume that smells like it—better yet a cologne that smells like it that Paul can wear). I also love looking at the cover—why did the author choose that cover? That typesetting? Do they like the cover? What were they thinking when they had that PR headshot taken? I also love carrying a book around—makes me feel pretentious, “What? You don’t read World War II historical memoirs over your Panini at lunch? Loser…”

But I also love technology and my husband, and quite frankly, Paul was sick of lugging around my “do box” of books and magazines every time we took a car trip. This way I can store it all on my NEW IPAD and that fits into my purse! My sister has a Kindle and she loves it so I took the leap with a book that has been on my To Read list for over a year or so: Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand.

This is the story of Louis Zamperini, an Olympic distance runner who ended up a Pacific POW. Sounds really uplifting, right—you know how difficult running is for my and the Pacific POW camps make Gitmo sound like a resort. In a Pacific POW camp, they were probably begging to “only” be water boarded. I admit, I have always been fascinated by concentration camp stories. In 8^th grade I entered a public speaking contest with a speech about concentration camps. I think the subtitle of Unbroken really sums it up well for me though: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. I LOVE a good survival story. I LOVE the word RESILIENCE. Not in a Bear Gryllis sort of survival, but when your mental and emotional mettle is tested. What would I do in that situation? I like to think I am a pretty strong chick (beyond bench press), but could I withstand the boredom, physical exertion and starvation (not to mention the torture, of course). And if I could, would I be able to withstand the survivorship? Spoiler Alert: Louis does magnificently and is a new inspiration for me (not necessarily in timing a mile, but in overcoming obstacles).

The only word of caution I have about this book is not to read it when you are backpacking with children. Especially those that tend to be more dramatic than others. You will have no sympathy for a kid whining about walking uphill after you hear of someone’s fingernails being ripped out. No tears are shed for children who dropped s’mores chocolate once you read of a POW who was forced to lick feces from the commander’s boot or be kicked in the face repeatedly. A dramatized headache brings eye rolls when they are not brought on by a beating session where 200+ strikes in one’s face by other men’s fists, clubs, boots, and branches. Its hard to remember to live in the now when reading a book so mesmerizing. Paul plans to read it if I ever give him enough time on my NEW IPAD.

Standby for Part 3!

Anna hard at work on her creation. She insisted on using all of her clay on one piece.

Tyler made a mouse.

Paul even got into the crafty picture!

Paul's creations: SpongeBob SquarePants and Patrick (the starfish)

So we waited a couple weeks so the clay could dry and we got some time. Then we decided to paint them. The plan was to take them outside for easy clean-up. So come Sunday morning, we took the paint and brushes outside. Water cup–check. Old canvas to “protect” the driveway–check. Only thing missing was the clay pieces. I was carrying them out, stopped on the way back outside to grab one more thing from the garage (you probably know how much I hate making 2 trips ANYWHERE). That’s when it happened….

~ ~ ~ ~ ~CRASH~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Everything slid off the tray, into the wall and onto the floor.

Carnage, part 1

Carnage, part 2

SpongeBob also suffered the wrath.

I felt sooooo bad. I tried to Superglue—didn’t even pretend to work for a second. Everything broke except for Anna’s–remember she insisted on 1 mass? Tyler pretended it was ok and painted for a second. Then I had a BRILLIANT idea. A way to make up for my clumsy mistake…the devastating blow my impatience caused yet again!

Hammer Time!!!!

Hammer Time!!!!

Point of interest #1: Please note the wearing of safety goggles.

Point of interest #2: Tyler wanted to continue to smash EVERYTHING: toys, chalk, a baseball…

Point of interest #3: I said no.

Point of interest #4: Paul said I told you so.

Balance was again restored in the Sanders Family.

It happened again tonight at the grocery store. Comment (phonetically, of course) with how you would pronounce this word:

chitterling

The artist at work

So instead of the fantasy world I live in where the kids are diligently working on their homework, Paul is making a delicious calorie-free dinner made entirely of cheese and garlic, the pets are all napping cuddled together on the couch while classical music plays on the stereo (you know–to build up the brain power during homework), and an ice cold Landshark beer (or glass of red wine–depending on the time of year) is waiting for me, I came into the Red Hot Chili Peppers on iTunes, cats fighting in the hallway, dogs drooling on the new couch, and….well…. this:

The scene at my kitchen table when I arrived home from work.

Tyler had been asking to make and launch (? is that was you do to a volcano?) the volcano that Elli, Michael, and Sydney gave him. So that project started while Anna channeled her inner Gerogia O’Keefe by painting with her new easel and supplies. She is SO gifted in her artwork.

Another angle

But then I got nervous: What if no one else wore jeans, and I looked like a slacker? What if my jeans were too tight, and I looked like a huss bag? What if I dressed too nicely and everyone thought I was a prissy-pants? What is a girl to do?? CALL ELLI! I ran my plan by The Tower: wear my white jeans w the blue denim shirt/jacket things from Coldwater Creek. Kind of embracing jeans, but safely. Or so I thought. My clothes coach was horrified! NO WHITE AFTER LABOR DAY IN THE SOUTH!? I thought that was no longer a rule, but apparently, that memo did not make it past the Mason Dixon Line either (along w the fact that the War is over).

I started getting dressed that morning in my compromise outfit: khakis and my CC shirt. Now it was Paul’s turn to be horrified. YOU CAN WEAR JEANS ON A FRIDAY AND YOU AREN’T!? I told him what Elli had said. He declared that Elli was getting her information from Steel Magnolias and I needed to put jeans on. Then it occurred to me that I probably should not take fashion advice from a man who has a 5-polo shirt rotation for his work clothing and wore shorts to his own wedding. I stuck to my guns–or khaki’s rather.

But this is another issue where the North and South diverge: Is it appropriate to wear white after Labor Day?

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

Next up: “Are my jeans too tight?” Learn what the three questions you need to ask before heading out the door and vote for whether I should wear them to work or not!

Laundry Room "renovation." We had one shelf that had all that stuff on it. Paul moved the shelf up, then added the 2nd one. DOUBLING our storage space--WHOOOO HOOOOOO!!!

Not to mention he is funny and super-cute:

Paul wears his goggles instead of sunglasses on our way back from an open water swim practice.

Today Paul and I took the kids to Subway for dinner, then we decided to try to do our part to stimulate the economy by buying ice cream at the new Summerfield Creamery. We were getting back in the car and I noticed today is September 10 [you don't pay much attention to the date when you are not working]. I said to Paul, “10 days until our anniversary!!” Paul confirmed with a, “Yep!” [you know he is a man of few words]. I had a few beats of silence to contemplate the past 2 years of marriage–wow, TWO YEARS!! Good for me! Good for us! Good stuff, we can do anything as long as we have each other!”

Then from the back seat, Anna pipes up, “What are we doing for your anniversary!?” Isn’t perspective funny?! I had not even considered this would be on their radar! What is even funnier is that Paul and Tyler will be at Tyler’s soccer practice, and Anna and I will be going to her school for a Parent Night thing.

Cheers!

Not sure when you snatched Paul and left the substitute, but I just realized it last night when he took a side trip insisting on shopping for shoes in two different stores. I thought that was bad enough, but then we got home and he started reading. That is not the surprise, but when he was still reading 3 hours later…WHOA.

THAT is how I knew he was a droid of some sort. But will he still cook for me?

Hmmmmm—he did suggest going out for dinner last night, that was weird.

Uh oh….he also didn’t clean all morning yesterday while I was at triathlon practice!!!!!

BRING BACK MY HUSBAND RIGHT NOW!!!!!

We made several life decisions:

• Tyler plans to live in Alaska so he can hunt polar bears and ride a snow mobile.
• Anna will live in Boone after she graduates from Carolina.
• Tyler asked me to drive him to Alaska when he moves there…since he doesn’t know where it is.
  • Caveat–he also requests that I drive him back each week after he grocery shops w Anna in the mountains

We will see how these plans hold up. Last night Anna got shampoo in her eye and said she would never shower again.

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