*

I don’t know if it is getting older or if it is the mid-Atlantic foliage, but my allergies seem to get worse every year. When I was young I wasn’t allergic to anything. Now I seem to be hypersensitive to outside.

When I went to BlogHer some nice people (I will not mention the company name here because I doubt they would want to be associated with this and it isn’t their fault) gave me a shit ton of free samples of an allergy medicine when they were shutting down their expo booth.

On August 23rd I ran out of my normal allergy medicine and decided to try it.

That wasn’t the crazy part.

This is the crazy part.

I took this new medicine on August 23rd. On August 23rd there was also a 5.8 magnitude earthquake. 

Rationally I know these two things are unrelated.

In the first three seconds that it was happening I realized that what I was feeling was an earthquake, but the mind works very quickly and one of my fleeting thoughts that was dismissed before coming to the earthquake realization was that I was having some sort of crazy brain embolism due to this new allergy pill.

Stop rolling your eyes at me. I said I dismissed that option.

Anyway, now I am afraid to take the rest of the free medicine because I am afraid we will have another earthquake.

(You can start rolling your eyes again now.)

*

Please tell me your irrational fears so that I feel better about myself.

I set my iPad on the shelf so that I can watch things when I cook or do dishes.

The other night night I was watching a documentary about Lemmy and having a particularly difficult fight with my cling wrap when I thought  Who the hell am I? This person in the suburbs who cannot work cling wrap and watches documentaries about septuagenarian thrash metal bass players in her kitchen on a Sunday night.

And then I realized that, oh yeah, watching movies about Motörhead and struggling with basic household chores is exactly who I have been this whole time.

I feel like that lady every single day.

I mean, I never toured with Krokus and I was ten years old for most of 1983. I never followed any band around for an entire tour, but sometimes I feel like an imposter. I take my kids to scouts, I weed my garden, I drive my minivan around my manicured neighborhood and I honest to God wave at my neighbors JUST EXACTLY LIKE THE LADY IN THE AD.

It isn’t really that I don’t belong here. A lot of my day-to-day life involves grocery shopping and trips to the library and pedestrian minutiae like that. I really do live here. I really do have two kids. Yes. I really am a “mommy blogger” but there is so much more to me than that.

I am a trained classical singer. I have a degree in Political Science. I am a published writer. I know a lot about things like wine, music, football, Marxism, variable annuities, and social media.

Just to clarify, I am not a Marxist, I have just read a great deal on the subject.

There is a latent truth to all of us. I have been thinking about it a lot lately. Some of it stems from reconnecting with old friends on Facebook and Twitter and some of it stems from this wonderful post I read by Miss Britt. It was this quote that got me.

People and places can surprise you. Even if you don’t have the time to learn the back story, remember that there always is one.

This is so true. I can be terrible. I refer to people in my neighborhood as “Jack’s mom” or “Emma’s dad” and that is how I think of them, but they are certainly more complex than that, even if I’m not always paying attention. I ran into Hazel’s mom at Hockey and Heels and now we have this whole thing in common. I stood in the rain after the bus stop one day for 30 minutes because I got caught up in a conversation with the lady across the street about late 80s hardcore. It was awesome. We went from being acquaintances to being friends in less than an hour.

You just never know.

I’ve never driven a Volkswagen, but there is just something about that commercial that resonates with me. Maybe that’s because I’m sure that some people think of me as “my kids’ mom” or “the lady in the minivan who drives to Safeway seven times a week” instead of Sarah, until we have a conversation and they (hopefully) realize that I’m so much more.

And every time I am on my way to Trader Joe’s and I slow down to wave at Janet I think Krokus. Yeah.

photo by Laurie White

Yes, I have multiple theories about grocery shopping.

Anyone who follows me on twitter, foursquare or knows me in real life probably knows that I go to the grocery store easily five times in a normal week. If you figure I spend about 30 minutes shopping each trip that means I spend an average of 130 hours a year buying food, beer, wine and paper products. That probably qualifies me as some sort of expert. I have actually seriously considered starting a entire website just dedicated to my grocery store musings.

My point being that I often have hypotheses about food acquisition mostly because I spend a good portion of my time in supermarkets.

I would also kick ass on The Price is Right.

But my theory! I am sure you are dying to hear about my new theory. It is simple. It is based on math and fashion.

The crappier you look when you leave the house, the more people you will see that you know in the grocery store.

You already know that this is true based on personal experience.

You know that one time you decided you didn’t really need to put on a bra just to buy a gallon of milk you ran into the PTA president. The time you said “fuck it” and wore your pajamas bottoms in lieu of real pants to grab a dozen eggs for breakfast you saw your old boss.

And today, when I went to get some steaks and stuff to make a salad right after my trainer left, still unshowered, still in my ill-fitting workout clothes, with the shirt with the hole under the arm so you can see the red sports bra underneath, I saw not one, not two, but THREE ladies that I knew at Shoppers Food Warehouse.

It was awesome.

Two of these ladies also go to my pool, so having seen me in a bathing suit they have seen worse, but at the pool you are supposed to look like a mess. I’m not saying that a person is expected to have coordinating accessories to go grocery shopping, but I could have run a brush through my hair.

Or put on a shirt with all of the seams still intact.

On Sunday I will wear a cover up and my UCF crocs to Target to see if I can conjure the Squad’s principal or a big client. Or maybe I’ll put on a nice dress and make-up and get my groceries in peace.

Go forth young scientists and  test my theory.

* * *

Special thanks to Sarah Be Mye… for her super awesome photo skillz.

That is a pretty big bridge. It is over five miles long and one time it collapsed, but I am okay with it. It is actually quite beautiful.

I’ve walked on and driven over the Golden Gate Bridge and I’ve ridden or driven over most of the big New York bridges and that crazy one in Delaware, but the big bridge that I am most likely to find myself on these days is the Bay Bridge.

The Chesapeake Bay Bridge (or the William Preston Lane, Jr. Memorial Bridge) connects the Eastern and Western shores of Maryland, or more importantly for me, it is the quickest way to get from Washington D.C. to the Delaware beaches. It is a dual span bridge, it is over four miles long and at one point it is 186 feet high.

I don't know who took this photo. I got it off of Wikipedia.

186 feet is high.

I probably go over this bridge at least eight times a year, and while it can be disconcerting in a storm, it really hasn’t been a big deal for me.

Until today.

I guess this is the part where I explain that the Bay Bridge sees a lot of traffic. A lot. Enough that during peak rush hours they will open up the inside lane of the westbound span and make it eastbound to help with congestion. I have noticed it before, but I never really knew how a person got over there and I never spent any time thinking about it.

Until today.

I was very clever and brought my E-Z Pass with me so that I could 1) go through the toll with no cash and 2) go in the fast lane and pass all of those suckers waiting to pay their $3.00.

Well now I know how one gets on the westbound span heading east.

And it is scary like shit.

On your left you have oncoming traffic. On your right you have a massive drop into the Chesapeake Bay.

I am a pretty good driver and an even better swimmer and I was close to soiling myself.

I found this picture on the internet of what it looks like.

Except this really doesn’t do it justice. Normally I would have been taking pictures like crazy, but since I was driving – and terrified – I kept both hands on the wheel.

See the cars on the one side and that weak ass railing on the other side?

It was one of those situations where I was afraid to slow down because the trip would take longer and I was too scared to speed because I was afraid I would lose control of the car.

I am a pretty brave person. I am not scared of flying or heights. I don’t get stage fright (unless it is an audition). I am okay with crowds and spiders and clowns and dentists and speaking in public.

I don’t mean to say that I am not scared of anything. I have my issues. I am afraid of needles and tornadoes. I am phobic when it comes to snakes and I haven’t watched a horror movie since I accidentally watched “The Ring” in a theater and didn’t sleep for two days.

But this bridge thing. This one thing really threw me. I wasn’t expecting to be scared.

It is like this blogging thing.

I acknowledge that this blog thing is winding down. I don’t believe that “blogs are dead” or anything like that, but I’m not blind. Even when the traffic is there the comments aren’t. I’m just as likely to be on Twitter or Facebook as I am to be reading a blog. I’m not as comfortable writing about my children as I used to be. They can read. It is becoming their story and not mine. Sometimes I go an entire week without writing anything here.

So what is next?

I don’t know. A lot of my friends have written books. Do I want to do that? Maybe. A lot of my peers have started PR companies, design firms or consulting businesses. Do I start another business? Maybe.

I have a pretty good writing resume. Should I try to get a solid writing gig that actually pays?

Do I try fiction?

Yes, I am scared of snakes and writing fiction. Somehow the fiction reveals more about a person than the memoir ever could.

I like change, but I’m not quite sure what comes next.

It is these bridges.

You wouldn’t think that something that big could sneak up on you, but there it is.

And we keep driving because we have no other choice.

I can hear the boy chanting under his breath.

Sack of C. Sack of C. Sack of C.

Awesome.

If any of you have children and a potty mouth, you might have realized long ago that words that you think aren’t curse words sound terrible when they come out of a little kid’s mouth.

Those words include, but are not limited to:

• Suck
• Crap
• Pagina
• Nuts
• Friggin’
• The lyrics to “My Sharona”
• Bastages
• Fugly

The phrases “Oh my God”, “pisses me off”, “shut your hole”, “bloody hell”, “What the eff?” and “mother of Christ” sound really bad too. I could go on, but you get my point.

I got Mother of Christ from The Sopranos. One time Tony said “Mother of Christ, Carmella!” and it has been one of my go-tos ever since. Bloody hell is the fault of Harry Potter and Gordon Ramsay.

Anyway, my six year old is chanting “Sack of c, sack of c, sack of c…” when he suddenly yells up from the bottom of the stairs “Hey Mom! Can I say the C Word?”

Now, I know that in this case the C word is crap, because I stopped using the exclamation “son of a whore” and replaced it with the more innocuous “sack of crap” in front of the children.

My mother-in-law however, doesn’t know this, and I can only assume that she  thinks he means a the more commonly known C-word.

My mother-in-law is pretty cool. She isn’t stuffy or a prude and she has heard her share of bad words, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t going to reflect poorly on me if I don’t hurry up and rectify this situation, and she is looking horrified, so really quick I say “Yes! You can say that C word. One time.”

And so my darling boy yells up the stairs “Sack of crap. Heh. SACK OF CRAP! SACK OF CRAP!”

1)  I know there is an ongoing debate about the status of the word crap as a curse word, but it sounds foul coming out of a child.

2) I yelled “I said you could say it one time!” and then I started laughing, because I can’t help it. Little kids saying bad words is funny and everyone knows it.

3) It gets worse.

So Ian is at the bottom of the stairs laughing, and then he says “Huh. Ass.”

But he says it more like “Aaaahhhhsssssssssssssssssssssssss.”

I yell “HEY!” and he stops.

Temporarily.

This isn’t over yet.

Three minutes later he is putting on his shoes and he starts saying “eff you see”. Then again “eff you see, eff you cee, eff you cee” and I am trying to ignore him because obviously the laughing was just egging him on, but his helpful and suddenly literate sister says in a really snotty voice “Ian, don’t you mean eff you see kay?”

All the adults yell “HEY!”

I said “That is enough. I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk.”

Because I am a hypocrite, but in this case a justified one.

Lessons Learned

1) There is more than one C word.

2) Don’t get him started.

3) They are all bad words if you use them in the correct context with the right inflection.

4) I am very lucky to have a mother-in-law that also thinks little kids saying curse words is funny. VERY LUCKY.

Confession:

My coffee pot (seen right) percolates to the beat of “Gasolina” by Daddy Yankee.

	Daddy Yankee – Gasolina .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

It does! That beat right at the beginning? That it what is sounds like when I make coffee.

Of course the embarrassing part is that I know this song and can handily make this comparison.

-  ”I know you are going to find out and make fun of me, so I will just tell you. I bought Joan Jett’s greatest hits today.”

- “Cheryl Tiegs really needs to buy a black bra.”

Actually, I wrote that last one. Well, then I said it, so I suppose both are true. Either way, it seems like a weird thing to say.

- “Why? Why would you take a dirty sock off of the bathroom floor and wipe your face with it? Why?”

- “I just want you to know that if there is an apocalypse and I become a zombie I am totally okay with you shooting me.”

I vote in almost every election and I am proud and honored to do so. I love being a part of the political process.

But mostly I am just pleased that I will stop getting phone calls from recorded messages five times a day. Those really piss me off – especially when they call after my kids go to bed.

* * *

Speaking of voting, do you guys actually have any interest at all in me finishing the 30 days of truth?

It had started making me nervous that my first graders did not seem to be reading yet. So I have begun really pressing the issue. Under duress the boy can read, but he doesn’t like to. He prefers to be read to. Fine, whatever.

In the past two months Claudia has started truly reading. She reads books to herself. She reads books to her brother. She reads to me and she reads to Gabe.

Of course most of them are the same six books.

When someone reads you “Today I Will Fly! ” for the seventieth time you start to wonder if maybe they just have this particular book memorized.

But I know for sure that Claudia can read.

You know how I know? We went to visit Gabe at work and he has this hanging in his office.

It turns out her reading comprehension is pretty solid too.

*sigh*