I always feel like somebody's watching me.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Camera shy?

Today I was offered a regular column in a local parenting magazine. Nothing big, nothing paid, but something that enables me to claim "I am published!" It's been a bit of a rough week around my house, and this really made my day. The editor asked me to send her a picture in case they have room. Hey, it's a small magazine, I'm excited to have 150 of MY OWN WORDS published, a picture is just icing on the cake. It took me, and I am not exaggerating here, longer to find a picture worthy of publication than it did for me to write the story. There are no pictures of me! You'll all say it's because *I* am the one always holding the camera. Sometimes, yes. But mostly, no! I'm too scatter brained half the time to remember to take pictures in the first place. I tote the stupid camera to everything, I just never take it out of the case. I envision myself being run over by a heard of elephants in Africa, because I'm going there, you know, and after my funeral my children are lost because there are no pictures of me. "What did our mother look like? Why are there no pictures? Was she hideous?" Okay, okay, that is absolutely absurd, the Africa part and everything. But really, there are few good pictures of me. There are family pictures of all of us that require a single picture of me to be cropped away, but none of me by myself. The few there are of me by myself are, in fact, hideous. There are either dark circles under my eyes, bad hair, glasses that have slipped down the bridge of my nose or I'm making a face that indicates I may,at any moment, hurl the contents of my stomach onto the photographer. I have decided from now on that at every family function there will be 5 minutes set aside for just photos. Photos of everyone present. Good photos too, not photos of people with their mouths in mid-chew or formed into strange shapes because they are in the middle of speaking. No. These will be look-into-the-camera-and-say-cheese! pictures. That is my New Year's resolution. If you don't like it, then don't come over.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Multitasking a must.

My husband went to a motorcycle show with some friends today. He looks forward to this show all year long. Motorcycle show to my husband is like bridal show to newly engaged woman. He buys tickets ahead of time, plans what he wants to look for or buy, he even orders coupons for $ off the tickets months in advance. It's kind of a big deal. Of course, the forecast called for the weather to turn bad, it always does. When he left, the weather was actually fine. It turned bad here at about the same time I last heard from him. I had sent him a picture of a brand new extracted tooth and he didn't respond. Nothing. Not like him, especially since he wasn't the one driving. Eh, whatever. An hour went by, still nothing. I text messaged him again. "Did you get the picture of the tooth?" Nothing. Another 45 minutes and I decide to call. No answer. At this point I'm getting a bit concerned because the roads have gotten bad here and if they're bad here they're usually worse in the direction he was traveling. A bit more time went by and finally he called me. "I was worried about you, the weather got bad here." "Oh, I was navigating. I need to update the GPS, it doesn't know all the new roads."

Navigating folks, not driving. Seriously, why were men wired like this? A quick text to say "Hey, navigating" would have killed him? So, we had small talk about the tooth and his fairy duties upon his return home tonight. He was trying to hurry the conversation as they had just gotten to the show. We said our pleasantries and hung up. The picture of my husband my mind painted right then made me laugh out loud. He hung up his phone and ran into the motorcycle show, darting from booth to booth like a kid set free in a toy store. "Oooh...look at this! I want one of these! Oooh...wow...ahhh..." I'm sure that in actuality, he sauntered in like the cool guy he is and enjoyed the plethora of shiny new motorcycles on display, but the picture in my mind is funnier and helps me be not mad anymore that he made me worry.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Privacy is a dirty word.

At least in my house. One is not permitted to use the bathroom without an audience. Any number of door locking methods have been tried and beaten. Tiny little lock smith wanna-be's run rampant with screw drivers and coins in my house. My children have picked every indoor lock we have installed in order to continue to demand attention no matter what unfortunate or compromising position one of us may be in. My children have forced me to take multitasking to a whole new level. For instance, yesterday my 5 year old barged in and demanded that I pull her tooth for her. I looked up from my book at her, "Really? You want me to pull your tooth for you while I'm pooping?" My 5 year old saw nothing wrong with this request but when I told her to "open up" she chickened out and decided she was the only one who could extract her first loose tooth. Off she ran, leaving the door hanging wide open for every one's viewing pleasure. To me, there is nothing more horrifying than walking by a bathroom and finding that it's occupied and in use. SHUT THE DOOR PEOPLE. Have you no shame? No dignity? I do not want to have to look someone in the face after I've seem them sitting on the can with their pants around their ankles, my husband included. We've been together 15 years and that is still not a place I want to go, nor will I ever want to go. We aren't one of those couples who just "hang out" in the bathroom together. One brushing their teeth, the other one emptying their bowels. Ain't happenin' folks. Now, because I have written this, professed my feelings publicly, I have cursed myself eternally. Someday, when my husband and I are walking with canes and clinking our Metamucil glasses, one of us will pass out while on the toilet and the other will have to deal with it. If I could guess lottery numbers like I can for see these things, I'd be on a beach in Fiji writing this, not in a state where temperatures reach numbers so low that even penguins won't live here.