Cooking Failures

Tag: love

  • I Was His Fuhst Cwush

    So, if you just randomly happen to meet me and we strike up a conversation, you might think I sound normal. It depends on what we’re talking about because if the topic has a lot of the letter R in it, then you’ll probably be thinking, “she sounds a little weird.”

    But, I’m also very good at racking my brain to find an alternate word that doesn’t have an R in it, and I will use that one instead. I’m like a walking thesaurus that way. Because unfortunately, I cannot say my R sounds.

    I’ve never been able to say my R sounds. Which is really really unfortunate seeing how my parents named me, Brita Schrager. Could there be any more Rs in that name? Could it be any harder to say? What were they thinking??? Did they hate me and want to ruin my life???  No, they probably just thought I would be able to say the R sound like every other person in the whole wide world!!

    When I was little and I couldn’t say my Rs, in my mind I was saying Brita, but the rest of the world heard Bwita. I remember a good friend kept calling me Bwita and, one day, I got so frustrated and looked at her and screamed, “Why are you calling me Bwita? My name is Bwita!”

    She just kind of looked at me and said, “OK, Bwita,” and then just kept being my best friend.

    I was so thankful when I got married and could finally drop that last name and all its Rs for a name with no Rs in it. It was so nice! Although, there was still that pesky first name that I had to deal with.

    I often practice saying my name out loud because, eventually, I will have to introduce myself to someone. Sometimes I practice just skirting past the R super quickly and other times I practice over pronouncing it. Like, really emphatically. I still haven’t figured out the best method. I still don’t know how to introduce myself. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.  I get all sweaty and nervous when I have to introduce myself like I am about to compete in the Olympics or something. Not that I have ever competed in the Olympics, but I think it would make someone really really nervous.

    It was a good thing once the water filter came out because that’s how people understand my name. I say it and then they say it and sometimes they ask, “like the water filter?”  Phew, then I can relax because now they know my name and will not ask me to repeat it. If I can’t say it right the first time I most likely won’t be able to say it right the second time!

    Sometimes they’re confused and they want me to repeat it, but instead of repeating it and butchering my name again I just say, “like the water filter!” And then there’s often pretty good smiles, and nods because everybody knows the Brita water filter. Or at least they used to. Are they still popular?

    I had a boyfriend in high school who would cut out every Brita water filter ad he saw in magazines or in the newspapers and stuff. I thought it was pretty adorable.

    Recently, I got a message on Facebook from an old friend from elementary school. I don’t think I’ve seen this friend in 20 years. He told me he was going to be in Wilmington for the weekend and, if I still live there, would I like to meet up for brunch? I said absolutely.

    This boy was actually my first crush. It started when I was in third grade. I saw him across the room in music class, and I absolutely fell in third grade love. Ah third grade love is the best! Nothing like real love at all. I think I’ll go searching for some third grade love.

    No, nothing ever came of it though because I was painfully shy all through elementary school and middle school. I couldn’t even talk to a boy. I knew he had a crush on me too, but I guess he was shy also. There was also another girl who kind of claimed him and cornered me in the bathroom and made me promise not to like him. I was scared of confrontation, so I said OK. I guess we will never know what could have been with this third grade love. 

    Anyway, here we are meeting up for brunch more than 40 years later. The conversation starts off all cute and sweet about how we used to have a crush on each other. We were chosen to play Mary and Joseph in the eighth-grade Christmas pageant. It was total honor, not only because they were the best and most-coveted roles, but also because we were both chosen. Like it was meant to be. Except it wasn’t because I was still too shy to talk to him.

    He was talking about how we had to pose for pictures at the end and his hand was on my shoulder. He told me his hand was so sweaty and he was so nervous that I could feel how sweaty his hand was. I, on the other hand, was wondering if my shoulder was too bony. I spent that night in bed rubbing my hand over my shoulder trying to decide if it felt like a regular shoulder or not.

    Eight grade Christmas Pageant. I’m Mary in the center left in the blue dress with my crush, who was Joseph, behind me in the red. He’s all cute and smiley and I look bored to death. Here’s a little trip down memory lane for all you St Anthony friends who read my blog. (Photo was shared by my crush when I told him about the blog)

    Our brunch conversation turned to our lives and college. I was telling him how I majored in communication sciences disorders, which is speech pathology. And he says, totally sincerely, “Oh, did you major in speech pathology because of your own speech impediment?”

    Oh my gosh, I thought I was going to die of embarrassment.

    I said, “NO! But thank you for bringing that up!”

    Then he said. “No problem, Bwita.”

    Then he told me a funny story, but he prefaced it with, “Don’t get mad, OK?”

    First of all, how could I get mad at him? I had a crush on him in third grade, have not seen him in almost 20 years. What could he possibly have done to make me mad? Also, I don’t get mad.

    He said that, recently, he was digitizing his schoolwork (who does that?), and he came across an essay he had written in high school. He was supposed to write a paper about his first crush, and so he wrote about me. And he told me that this is how he described me in his paper,

    She’s cute, and shy, and she can’t say her Rs, like Elmer Fudd. 

    Like Elmer Fudd???? Oh my gosh, I wanted the ground to swallow me up right then! I was so embarrassed! But, also, it was the funniest thing I have heard in a long time.

    Elmer Fudd, patron saint of those who can’t say their R sounds.

    I said, “ I mean….. you didn’t want to leave that part out? Didn’t I have more redeeming qualities? Nothing more memorable?”

    He said, “I said you were cute.”

    Good point. You’re redeemed.

    But, we laughed and laughed. I mean, even with my speech impediment, guys still liked me. Or at least this one did.

    I did have years of speech therapy. Therapists would show me how to position my tongue, and I never could get it right. Why is the R sound so hard? The therapist told my mom to write “USE GOOD R SOUNDS,” on note cards and tape them up all over the house so I would see them and remember to use good R sounds. How is reading a card that says USE GOOD R SOUNDS going to make me use good R sounds? I just can’t say them! Do they think I’ll be speaking and then I’ll see that card and I’ll stop and I’ll twirl and twist my tongue around and I’ll place it right behind my front teeth and I’ll try to say R and it will come out perfectly because I read a stupid card??? There was one taped to the bathroom mirror and I remember being mad at it every time I brushed my teeth.

    My poor little sister has the same speech impediment because she learned to talk by listening to me. I mean, of course there was my older sister and my parents who could say their R sounds, but I was her main playmate.

    I loved playing with my little sister. My mom says she could not wait for me to come home for preschool because then she would just give me the baby and I would just play with her for hours and hours. Mom could get her housework and other stuff done. She said I would easily take care of the baby for her for hours. Mom said that, one day, she left me with the baby for too long and I appeared in the kitchen door holding the baby and said, “Mom, I’m just exhausted. I can’t take care of her anymore.” I was four years old.

    Mom also likes to tell the story about how, when she took my little sister to the doctor, I would shove my mom aside, get right up front and answer all of the doctor’s questions about how she’s eating and sleeping. Mom said it was like I thought I was her mom.

    Very cute and all, but the price my sister paid was that I, accidentally, taught her how to talk. Sorry about that, Alaina. Although she doesn’t have any Rs in her first name so she’s a lot luckier than I am. She still has that terrible last name though. I guess you can’t win them all. Maybe she should just go by her first name like Beyonce or Madonna. Or Prince! Are those even their real first names? 

    For the longest time I thought about changing my first name to something with no Rs in it. It can’t be that hard to change your first name, can it? When I checked into it, it turns out that is very hard to change your first name. And besides, it might offend my parents. I have nothing against my name. It’s actually a very pretty name. I just can’t say it because it has an R in it. At this point, I guess I’ve lived 51 years with this name, so I might as well just keep it.

    When I was at my mom‘s house last year, I found a bunch of old VHS tapes. No one really knew what was on them, so I brought them home. One of them happened to have my practice speech from when I was running for activities chairperson in, I think, eighth grade. When it starts out, I leap into the frame and say, “Hi my name is Bwita and I am running for activities chaiwpuhson.”

    I’ve got some real 80s hair going on there, too. And a hot pink and turquoise 80s outfit. I go on and on and on about all the grand ideas I have if I’m elected activities chaiwpuhson, and then, at the end, (another die of embarrassment moment) I pretend to throw fake candy into the crowd and say, “VOTE FOR BWITA! VOTE FOR BWITA! FOR ACTIVITIES CHAIWPUHSON,” and then I do a little flip thing with my hands.

    GIF from my eighth-grade activities chaiwpuhson campaign.

    Well, can you believe it? I didn’t win! I showed my sister the video after I found it and we were laughing about it and I told her I did not win. She said, “even with the promise of clash day you didn’t win?” And she is right! There is no way I could have lost with the promise of clash day! Was there election interference? Fraud at the polls? Classmates voting illegally?

    Then, I finally figured out what it was.

    I lost because I couldn’t say my Rs. But I didn’t know it then because I thought I could say my Rs!  Nobody wants an activities chaiwpuhson who can’t pronounce their title. I mean, there are actually two Rs in activities chaiwpuhson, so I think one of the qualifications for having that title is being able to pronounce the word. Why didn’t I choose to run for something with no R in it? President? Nope – it has an R. Vice President? Same. Secretary? Ugh! They all have Rs! I mean, actually I probably lost because my ideas sucked, but we’ll just go with I lost because I couldn’t say my Rs.

    But wait!!! I am just realizing and wondering what else I missed out on in life all because I could not pronounce my Rs? Job opportunities? Relationships?

    Oh my gosh! Can I blame everything that’s wrong in my life on my speech impediment? I mean…. It’s wuhth a twy, wight?

  • How Taco Seasoning Ruined My Perfect Driving Record

    Now I wouldn’t say I’m a good driver. I would say I’m a safe driver. I would say I’m a careful driver. I will claim to have never gotten in an accident or gotten a speeding ticket, although that would not be entirely accurate. I have gotten one speeding ticket, but it wasn’t my fault and I went to court and fought it and it got dismissed. So, does that really count? I don’t think so.

    I also got a ticket for not stopping completely at a stop sign, but I’m pretty sure I did stop completely at the stop sign. The cop was rude and said he got it on dash cam so I can go ahead and try to go to court and fight it if I want to. Did that intimidate me? Absolutely. But, I still went to court and fought it and got that one dismissed too. So neither counts.

    I’m actually not supporting my point very well at all, am I?

    I also cannot say that I’ve never gotten into an accident because I actually did get into one right when I got my license.

    I got my license right when I turned 16. Of course I was a confident, know at all, nothing could hurt me, life is roses and sunshine, and everything always works out for me kind of teenager. That was the life I led.

    I was driving to work a couple of days after I got my license, and I was turning left onto a pretty busy road. Even today Brita, with nearly 36 years of driving experience, would never even attempt to make a left like that. I would never even dream of trying to make that kind of a left! Honestly, I would make a right and left or then a U-turn to get on that road instead of attempting to make a left. I guess I’ve learned my limitations. Obviously, when I was 16, I did not know my limitations.

    So, for some reason, I made a left onto that busy road with multiple lanes of traffic, and I only looked left to make sure no cars were coming that way. 

    Why didn’t I look right to also make sure no traffic was coming from that direction, too? I’m sure they taught that in Drivers Ed. Why wouldn’t I also look to the right? I don’t know! Maybe I just figured everything would be fine? Maybe I just figured everything would work out? Because it usually does. And also, I just got my driver’s license, and doesn’t that mean I know everything about driving?

    Well, as you can imagine, it did not work out. It wasn’t fine. Luckily, it wasn’t a terrible accident, but I did get hit by a car that was coming from the right that I pulled out right in front of.

    Thankfully, the damage was minimal, and he was a very nice man. He said not to worry because it was a company car and it was a really crappy company car and he had been asking them to get him a better one, so I actually did him a favor. I love people like that who will lie to make you feel better. Like my brother who always eats what I make for dinner and says that it was good.

    But, it was just a little dent and no one was hurt and no one was upset. Not even my mother. She actually blamed herself because she told me to go that way to work. Mommy always makes me feel better. And isn’t it like a mother to take the blame off her child?

    But, to my poor little 16-year-old self who everything always worked out for, that accident was the end of the world.

    Seriously, you would have thought my dog died or something. I could not have imagined anything worse happening to me. I think I locked myself in my bedroom and cried for a whole week. My mother kept trying to reassure me that it was fine, and that it wasn’t even a big deal and that’s what insurance is for. But still, I felt like it was the worst possible thing that I could ever happen to me.

    Pfft! Little did I know about the other worse possible things. I wish that little accident was the worst possible thing that could happen to me now, because the actual worst possible thing JUST HAPPENED! But I’ll get to that in a little bit.

    After that accident, I proclaimed I was never ever going to drive again! I was going to walk everywhere for the rest of my life! And I was absolutely serious! If you know me now, you know I can be just a little dramatic. Just a little.

    Somehow, I eventually got over the terrible trauma of my early-days driving accident. I stopped crying. I left my room. I ate some food. I went back to work. And, maybe biggest of all, I drove again, which was the scariest thing ever.

    Since then, and probably because of that, I have become a very very careful driver. I will look over my shoulder four times before I switch lanes. I will keep such a distance between my car and the car in front of me that other cars just cut in front of me. They think that’s an open space and just not the (well, my) proper following distance! Then, I have to back up to keep that far of a distance from the new car in front of me and then another car just cuts in front of me! Again! So rude! Don’t people know about the five second rule? When the car in front of you goes, you count to five before you go!

    Maybe that’s not the rule. There’s some rule about some seconds you’re supposed to count in regard to the car ahead of you. For me, it’s five seconds. Then you go.

    I also barely drive the speed limit. Sometimes on car rides, my son will sigh, look at the speedometer, look at me, and ask, “Can we at least go the speed limit?” And he says it in a very annoyed tone. Teenage tone? Maybe I should just say teenage tone. It’s understood that that tone would be classified as annoyed. 

    When that happens, I never even realize I wasn’t going the speed limit. I didn’t even notice. I thought I was zipping along at about the same speed as all of the other cars. I guess I should’ve noticed all of the other cars passing me. Sometimes I’m in my own little world while I drive. I just do what felt comfortable. Which is slow. Slow feels comfortable to me. But, on longer car trips, now I set cruise control so I will at least go the speed limit. I even sometimes set it for four miles per hour over the speed limit. Look at me! Such a rebel! 

    Also, apparently, I’m a terrible judge of when I can make a right. I wait until I have plenty of room and I make a right and still that car that’s coming from the left speeds up and winds up right against my bumper! Why do people do that?!? Why don’t they just slow down and let people make their right turn?! Wouldn’t that make the most sense? Are they going to hit me? Are they trying to prove a point? What would that point even be? I’ve never understood that but I will say that it does scare me. 

    Also, I hit curbs. And run over curbs. I heard that my dad runs over curbs a lot, too. I think it’s probably hereditary and I probably got it from him. 

    A friend of mine saw me once and said, “Poor curb.”

    Poor curb??? That’s the curb’s fricking job! He would be so bored if people like me didn’t bump him and run over him. That curb might be out of a job if it weren’t for me!

    And, can we talk about parking? I have been called a terrible parker a time or two. I will pull in and then do the little reverse and straighten out move multiple times. Sometimes I even open the door while I’m parking so I can see where the line is. 

    And, I never back into parking spots. I don’t understand how people do that. It makes me nervous.

    Parking has always made me nervous for some reason. I’m like my mom and I usually pick a parking spot with no cars on either side of me, so I won’t have to worry about parking well. But somehow, I got away from that healthy and safe habit, and I got overly confident in my parking abilities. I started to choose spots between two cars. And I always just zip right in there perfectly with no problem.

    Until last week. I was just zipping along doing my normal Brita driving, going back to the grocery store because I had forgotten taco seasoning. And, wouldn’t you know it? I pulled into a parking spot, and I hit the car beside me while I was parking. A parked car. It didn’t fly out in front of me. It didn’t grow an arm that it stuck in my path. I just hit a parked car. I couldn’t believe it! I heard a little crunch. It took me a second to figure out what happened.

    How did that even happen? Was I rushing? Was I not paying attention? I wish I could rewind my life 10 seconds. Like push a little rewind button and see myself backing up and getting another try. But unfortunately, life doesn’t come with rewind buttons. Mistakes can’t be easily rewound and undone.

    My first thought was, “Geez, I guess I really am terrible at parking. How did I not know that? Why did I think I could park? And why didn’t I pick one of those parking spaces with no cars on either side?” There were actually plenty of them around.

    My next thought was, “Oh no! Am I losing my mind? Is this part of growing old? Am I going to be sent to old people’s home soon by my kids? Will they take away my license for something like this?”

    I imagined the DMV saying something like, “We do not believe she is in the right state of mind to be able to operate or motor vehicle.”

    My next thought was that I’m really glad I haven’t bought a new car yet. Which I had been thinking about doing.

    The next thought was even, “What am I going to make for dinner?” I think this thought is just a constant in my mind, so that’s why it showed up. Get out of here dinner thought! This isn’t the time!

    I was also thinking, “Am I dressed appropriately to have a conversation with a real person about hitting their car?” Those of you who know me know that I constantly just wear pajamas. I have at-home pajamas. Work pajamas. Going out pajamas. I even have different pajamas for bed that are different than the ones I wear around the house. “Do I have time to run home and put on real clothes and then come back and deal with it? It’s really close!”

    But, don’t worry. I turned into a normal person pretty quickly and I had all of the normal person thoughts after that.

    “Oh no! I just hit somebody’s car! I hope they are not going to be too mad at me! I hope it’s not going to cost me too much to fix! I hope my insurance is not going to go up too much! What do I do now?? How could I’ve been so stupid??”

    So I pulled into to a different spot and rummaged through my car to find something to write a note on. I discovered I should really keep a notepad in my car for instances like this. The only paper I had was from my son’s last physical, so I had to use that. At this point, I didn’t mind that the stranger had my son’s height and weight and pulse and blood pressure. I just wanted to get this note written.

    How do you begin a note like this? To whom it may concern? Dear black Jeep owner? Just, “Good afternoon?” Then, I decided the note did not need a greeting. I should just apologize. I should probably apologize profusely just so he/she knows how sorry I am. Should I give him/her some background about how I’m really a sweet person and I typically don’t crash into other people’s cars? What information should I include? Obviously, my name and my phone number, but does he/she need my last name? My email address? My insurance info now, or just wait for when he/she calls me? I’m not really sure of the proper etiquette for leaving a note saying I accidentally just hit your parked car. 

    Should I write down my blog website in case he/she wants to read my blog so he/she can get to know me a little better? I’m sure he/she wouldn’t be so mad at me after he/she read my blog? He/she will realize what a mess I am and probably just feel sorry for me. 

    Am I overthinking this? Of course I am! Overthinking is my middle name! Not really. It’s Lynn.

    So, I decide to just write a simple note that said, “I accidentally hit your car. I am so so sorry. Please call me and we can fix this.” 

    Then I just wrote my first name and my phone number.

    My first instinct, of course was to panic and call Mommy. Was I absolutely harder on myself and I should’ve been? Yes, but that’s just who I am.

    So, I spent the night overthinking it and feeling terrible. I spent the night feeling stupid and even crying a little bit. But only one night. Because life is short and, as you age, you get a better understanding about what’s a big deal and what’s not.

    But, I also learned that it’s OK to make a big deal out of little things. Just not for too long. Just for one night.

    I think I was getting too cocky and comfortable, and I needed the universe to knock me down a notch and say, “Look Brita, you can still make mistakes, so… pay attention.”

    So, now I pay attention. And I also find a parking spot far at the back where there are no cars on either side of me.

    You have to be careful parking, people. It’s not as easy as you think it is. Take it from me. I learned my lesson the hard way, so you don’t have to!

    Also, I’m absolutely not going to tell my kids about this little accident. I’m going to continue telling them I’m a perfect driver with a perfect driving record. At the same time, if you see me driving, stay out of my way. And, if you see me parking, definitely stay out of my way! But, if you see my kids around, please keep my little secret.

    And yeah, I was thinking I need a new car, but now I’m thinking I should hold off. I have a feeling there might be a few more surprise bumps in the road. Or on the curb. But at least I can blame my dad for those.

  • My Multitasking Madness

    Screenshot

    Is there anyone who doesn’t multitask? You read everything about doing one thing at a time and putting all of your effort and concentration on the one thing you’re doing so you’ll do it right. But, honestly, how is there time to do everything if you do that?

    I never do one thing at once. Sometimes I do five things at once. I honestly feel I will never get everything done if I only do one thing at a time.

    I don’t even brush my teeth without doing something else. I run around the house, brushing my teeth while I fold laundry or while I sweep the floor or while I wipe down countertops. One of the main reasons I don’t use an electric toothbrush, although my dentist always recommends it, is because you can’t do household chores while brushing your teeth with an electric toothbrush. It’s just too heavy. It will fall right out of your mouth.

    I always have a list of at least a dozen things swirling in my head, so it makes sense why I will try to do multiple things at one time.

    Like filling the dog’s water bowl. Why does it take so long to sit there and fill the dog’s water bowl? While I’m filling the dog’s water bowl I think, “Oh, there’s at least two quick things I can do instead of sitting here and waiting.”

    We have a reverse osmosis faucet and so I used to put the bowl on the counter and start filling it up and go do something else quickly and then come back. Until that one day when I forgot about it and it overflowed all over the countertop and all over the floor. And all down the insides of the cabinets and the drawers underneath. That was a mess, but then I learned I should put the dog’s bowl in the sink to fill it up and then go do something else. Just in case I forget, which I always know I won’t.

    That worked perfectly until the one morning when I got up, and the dog’s bowl was still in the sink, full of water, with the faucet still in the on position. Had I left it running all night long?!? Obviously, yes. 

    I had put it in the sink to start filling up the water before I went to bed while I fed the cat and let the dog out and, obviously, completely forgot about it.

    I started freaking out about my water bill, but honestly, I should’ve been freaking out more about my memory. In case you’re wondering, the water bill was fine. I had a panic moment that my water bill would be $1,000 from letting it run all night. Unrealistic, I know, but there’s no reasoning with a panicked Brita.

    We were going out of town to visit my mom a few weeks ago. Ever since I was little, my mom has made me eggs in bed. But they are not really eggs in bed. It’s just where you fry an egg in a little hole in the bread. There’s a bunch of different names for them like toad in the hole or something like that. 

    My mom makes me those every single time I’m home and it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. They remind me of when I was little and something as simple as an egg in bed could fix the world. I guess I was feeling a little nostalgic, hungry, and ambitious, and I thought I would make myself some eggs in bed. 

    While I was standing there watching the eggs cook, I was getting really impatient and thinking about all the other things I could be doing while the eggs cooked. I had a brilliant idea that I could run upstairs and pack my son’s clothes really quickly for vacation while I was letting the eggs cook. Well, I’m sure you can figure out how that turned out. Writing this now I see that it seems unrealistic and slightly ridiculous, but honestly, I’m a really really fast packer. And a really bad cook.

    As you can imagine, I burned the eggs. But I wasn’t going to waste them and they didn’t look that bad so I ate them. They were gross. But then I was feeling really disappointed afterwards and a little discouraged so I told myself that I CAN make eggs in bed. I told myself this wouldn’t be a failure and I just need to try again. 

    So, I picked myself up, dusted off my apron (kidding, I don’t wear an apron, but I just thought it sounded good for the story), and tried, once again, to make eggs in bed. But, again, I got super impatient waiting for them to cook, so I just went to do some smaller things such as clean the downstairs bathroom and, guess what? I burned the eggs again. But still, I ate them because I did not want to waste them. I had eaten four burnt eggs while multitasking, and still did not learn my multitasking lesson.

    I always have a list of about 12 things in my head to do. I’m one of those people who walks in the room and forgets why i went in there, but I’ve heard that’s common. People always suggest I write a list instead of trying to remember things in my head. It really makes a lot of sense and would make things much easier, but still I think I’m great at remembering things so I keep doing things that way. 

    Isn’t it interesting how sometimes when things don’t work we just keep doing it the same way? Is it a habit? Is it because we’re too lazy to change? Or is it just us trying to prove to ourselves that this way can work if we just try a little harder?

    The other day I came home from work and was feeling really hungry. I decided to make myself some pasta. I filled the pot with water, and I put it on the stove and turned it on.

    Then I went upstairs to do a few things while I waited for the water to boil. I sat at my computer and sent a few work emails. Then I put away some laundry and I cleaned the bathrooms upstairs. I was walking downstairs to get something and I thought to myself, “Geez, I’m a little hungry.”

    And then I thought, “Didn’t I make pasta? Did I eat the pasta?” And then I ran to the kitchen and luckily there was a little water still boiling in the pot. Just a little! Like less than an inch. That could’ve been a disaster! I am always a little nervous when things like that happen and I told myself I should probably quit multitasking and do one thing at a time. I have not taken my advice yet.

    The other night, my brother and I were making mac & cheese. I was of course, doing a million other things while making mac & cheese, like the dishes and sweeping the floor and folding a little laundry and feeding the dog. And multitasking, of course, so I was doing all this stuff while we were making mac & cheese and then I put it in the oven to bake for 25 minutes and sat down with my brother to watch TV. 

    I did set the timer on the oven. After a little while, I asked my brother if he could see how much time was left on the oven clock because I’m blind and cannot see that far and was too lazy to get up. He looked at the oven clock, he squinted, and he asked me if I was sure I turned the oven on. I tsked at him and responded with, “Of course I turned the oven on!” Just to be sure, I got up and checked. And guess what? You guessed it, I was baking the mac & cheese in the oven for 25 minutes and it wasn’t even turned on. I guess that’s what I get by trying to do a bunch of other things at the same time. It worked out fine, dinner was just a little late. It taught us all patience.

    I can’t even watch TV without doing something else at the same time. I’m always typing on my computer or scrolling through my phone or reading the news. 

    I can’t even clean my house or do laundry or walk the dog without listening to an audiobook on my phone. 

    I know that I’m always distracted and that’s why, on rare occasions, I have found my car keys in the fridge and my cell phone in the silverware drawer. I know, I asked myself the same thing. Should we be worried about something more? But, I did actually talk to my doctor about it at my last physical and she’s not worried at all. We both think I’m completely sane. Just too busy.

    I can’t even sit in church without running through a mental list in my mind of all the things I need to do. Sometimes I even sneak off to the bathroom to send a quick email or respond to a text. I know! That’s awful! But, I feel like if I don’t do it right away, I will forget. But then I come back and pray. 

    I am ashamed to say that sometimes I even get my phone out in the middle of church. Maybe people will think I’m just doing God things on my phone. I always sit out in the entranceway where they don’t have the hymnals, so when a real Catholic rocker is being sung and played, I Google the lyrics quickly on my phone so I can sing along at the top of my lungs. Yes, I also feel very sorry for whatever stranger is sitting next to me in church. I’m not a great singer. On one occasion, someone actually got up and moved. I honestly think it was because of my singing.

    I was in the grocery store today and the woman ringing my things up was going so slow. I was just standing there, watching her ring things up at a snail’s pace, thinking about all the other things I need to do and all of the things I could be accomplishing during this time. So I whipped out my phone to respond to a quick work email.

    Does anybody else else’s life look like this? Are there people who actually just do one thing at a time? People who aren’t always stressed about the next thing on the list? People who accomplish everything they need to in a day while only doing one thing at a time? 

    But sometimes I drop the ball. Sometimes I forget something important. My supervisor called me on Tuesday a couple weeks ago and said she was thinking that it didn’t make much sense for me to drive to Raleigh on Thursday so I don’t have to.

    Ummmm… Was I supposed to go to Raleigh on Thursday? Did I miss something important? Obviously. But, I played it off and acted very gracious that I did not have to drive to Raleigh on Thursday. 

    I recently had jury duty, which I was all pissed off about because I had a million things to do. They said no phones were allowed so you had to leave it in the car. At first I panicked. I brought a book in with me and, after being nervous about all I was missing for the first half hour, I actually just sat there and read my book. It was kind of luxurious. Part of me was hoping jury duty would last the whole week. But it didn’t.

    I have a friend in my book club who reads a whole book in one day. She said she just starts in the morning and she takes a break for lunch. She just spends the whole day reading. What?!?! When does she clean her house? Maybe not everyone has to clean their house three times a day like I do. But, I’m so jealous of a day to do nothing but read.

    I should probably pay better attention to things. I should probably slow down. I should probably put some things off until tomorrow.

    I can easily blame it on being a single mom with four jobs and demanding pets but those are really just excuses. I’m going to try to quit multitasking. Right after I Swiffer the floor, while brushing my teeth and folding this quick load of laundry. Or maybe I will just try to quit tomorrow. Or in 20 years. I mean, isn’t just thinking about it a good first step?

  • Taco Bell Valentine’s

    Ah, Valentine’s Day. I’m sitting here trying to find a good present for my Valentine. Love poem?

     “Roses are red and violets are blue.” That is how all the love poems start. But roses are a lot of colors, not just red,

    And violets are actually purple so that’s just a stupid love poem so I will think of a new love poem to write for him.

    “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” Is that Browning or something? I don’t know, one of those people who went to Carolina who doesn’t use proper English. Because nobody says thee. (This is a joke for my Valentine who went to “Carolina” and thinks he knows everything. And uses words NO ONE uses. Does anyone else know someone who went there as acts that way? Endearing, huh?) 

    I could start his love poem that way. It would be easy. I would just count one, two, three, four, five, all the way up to 2037 and then I would write the end. That would be a pretty boring love poem so I don’t think we will go with that.

    What about “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Love poems start like that sometimes. Is that Shakespeare? Did he go to Carolina? Nobody says thee or shall. We could go with that one if you want, but I’m not sure it makes much sense.

    You’re hot? You make me sweat? You’re too hot? I can’t wait until fall? Why is my AC bill so high? No, we probably won’t go with that love poem either. I mean, I know he’ll like that “you’re hot” part, but it doesn’t really scream romance. I think it would have been better to use “an early fall day.” Who doesn’t love an early fall day? I think that poem would’ve been a lot more popular if it went, “Shall I compare thee to an early fall day?” Might have even made the guy famous.  

    Oh! Oh! I should grab a boom box, wear a trench coat, and stand outside his window holding the boom box above my head with a forlorn desperate filled expression on my face while playing “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel. Swoon!  He would fall in love with me instantly. (he actually would love this)

    But I don’t own a trench coat. Or a boom box. And I don’t really want to invest in either of those just for this one grand romantic gesture. So, I probably won’t show my love that way either. I don’t know if he even likes that song. Also, I feel like my arms would get tired. Those things are heavy!

    A box of chocolates? Why do people only give chocolates on Valentine’s Day? They should give chocolates every day. And why are there only like two good chocolates in a whole box of chocolates? Why are they all filled with weird stuff like nougat or something super chewy that you worry it might break your teeth? Or something that just tastes gross. Can I please get a whole box of chocolate filled with only the orange and cream ones? Aren’t those the best?

    Stuffed animal? Come on! Those really are only for little kids. Why is it all of a sudden on Valentine’s Day, acceptable to give grown-up people stuffed animals? You wouldn’t give your mom a stuffed elephant for Christmas or her birthday!  Why is it ok to do it on Valentine’s Day? What are they going to do with them? 

    To be fair, I do sleep with the stuffed Snoopy, but I think I’m the exception and I might be the only adult who does sleep with a stuffed animal. I just need something to put under my arm to get comfortable. I tried using my cat, but she’s not down with it and my dog just doesn’t listen. She’s the worst snuggler. She will literally sit a foot away from me and call that snuggling. Oh, I’ve tried. It is a hopeless case. If I cannot get that dog to snuggle, then nobody can.  

    Besides, my Valentine sleeps with one of these Darth Vader CPAP masks on his face. It would scare the heck out of a poor little stuffed animal! Scares the heck out of me when I turn around and see it. Poor little pink stuffed teddy bear would jump up and scream and run away as fast as he can.

    No, we will not go with a stuffed animal either.

    OK, sorry, back to my Valentine’s gift.

    Rose petals scattered on the bed? Why do people do that? That can’t be very comfortable. Or sanitary. And also, kind of sounds like a complete disaster to clean up. And my Valentine has enough problems cleaning up as it is so we will skip that one.

    I looked for Valentine’s Day reservations, but first of all, why are there no reservations left unless we want to go to dinner at 9:30? And second of all what is with the fixed Valentine’s Day menu? That’s so dumb. What if I don’t want to eat something on that menu? Why can’t I just order whatever I want like any other day? It’s Valentine’s Day so you can’t get what you want? That makes no sense. I’m going to open a restaurant and for Valentine’s Day, it’s going to be the “get anything you want” special. Except I’m not going to open a restaurant because first of all, I can’t cook, second of all I know nothing about opening a restaurant, and third, I’m broke.

    Oh, I know! What about shout it from the mountain tops? Now that’s a grand romantic gesture. Except I live in Wilmington and there are no mountain tops. But also, it seems like a lot of work to climb all the way up to the top of the mountain just to scream I love you. For NO ONE to hear.  If the mountain is so tall, nobody’s going to hear you. What’s the point of a grand romantic gesture if nobody can hear you? I don’t know who thought of shout it from the mountain tops, but I don’t think I’m doing that for Valentine’s Day. 

    I was walking around Target trying to get some ideas and there were an alarmingly large number of heart shaped pillows! Big pink and red fluffy heart shaped pillows. Don’t people already have pillows? And if people need a new pillow, it wouldn’t be a heart shaped one. Can you even get pillowcases for those?! Won’t they get dirty? I don’t think they make heart shaped pillowcases. Do you wash the whole thing? Can someone tell me how to wash a pillow? Every time I’ve tried it’s come out super lumpy and deformed, and I can never get it back to normal again. Not buying my Valentine one of those. 

    Candle lit dinners? Ummm… I need to stay away from fire for a little bit. If you read my post about my vacuum, you understand. Oh, to follow up on that post I bought fire extinguishers, but they are little. One time use. Why do things always look larger online? Well, I’m only planning on one fire at a time so it should be fine.

    A bouquet of flowers? I was in the grocery store and there were so many bouquets of flowers. So many! There is no way people can buy them all. Poor flowers will all be dead. Made me sad and reminded me of the story of the Little Fir Tree by Hans Christian Andersen. My mom used to read it to us when we were little. Heartbreaking story about a live Christmas tree who just gets dragged out to the curb and left there after all the Christmas festivities. He was so sad. It made me so sad. Bouquets of flowers remind me of the little fir tree. No flowers for my Valentine.

    I’ve run out of ideas. I’ve run out of ways to show him I love him. But no one really needs grand gestures. Just a million small kindnesses every ordinary day show love better than grand gestures. Maybe I’ll just bring him Taco Bell and take him to a comedy club. Although he really doesn’t need any more laughs because his girlfriend is hilarious. 

  • Old broken plastic dog toy bins

    Is there anyone else who just doesn’t like new things? A new phone, a new car, even new clothes…. they just don’t excite me. There’s something about the old, the familiar, the well-loved, that just feels so comfortable. It feels like home.

    I wear my clothes out until they’ve disintegrated to nothing. My favorite pair of black pants has holes in the butt, but it’s fine, I just wear black underwear, and no one can really tell. No one’s really looking at my butt that closely.

     I had a favorite gray long sleeve waffle knit shirt that I wore and wore and wore until it fell apart. The collar had come off, the cuffs had come off, the holes in it were too big to keep wearing it, even around the house. I still miss that shirt over 20 years later.

     It’s also as if my old clothes know me. They know how I like them to fit; they know how I like them to feel and when I get up off the couch they say, “ Oh, are you going to get yourself another glass of wine?” Then they high five me  because my clothes know if they are lucky, I will spill some on them and they will get some wine too!

    New clothes are all tight and stiff, and uncomfortable. They try to be all high waisted. No one likes a high waist! I like a low waist. I know that’s your name and what you were made to do, but don’t try to do that stuff around my house. Go low.

    They’re also very judgmental and questioning. “Are you getting ANOTHER glass of wine?” They also freak out when I spill stuff on them.  “Quick! Get the stain stick!” They yell. “Oxy Clean! Shout! Where are you?!”

    “Chill!” I tell them. “You don’t need a stain stick! Or any of that other stuff. We love stains around here. It gives us character!”

    And then there’s my car. I’ve only had it for eight years, but I’ve put over 230,000 miles on it. The back right door doesn’t close properly; the left turn signal doesn’t work unless you push it down really hard. If you just push it down normally, then the right turn signal will come on. I give it a break because sometimes I confuse my right with my left also. 

    The air vent on the far right doesn’t work, the paint is peeling, it has more than a few dents and scratches, and the radio is very finicky. The radio sometimes stops working, but over the years, I have found that I can easily reset it with my earring.

    “Oh, not this again,” I say pretending to be annoyed with the radio and I drive along, pull my earring out and reset it quickly.  Usually resetting the radio fixes it. If not, I just wait until the next day and then it starts working again magically. I guess you need patience with used and well-loved things.

    My car knows me. It knows what I want to listen to, it knows that I like to go below the speed limit and it doesn’t give me a hard time about it. Not like some rental cars that I’ve been in that just want to go fast. My minivan likes going slow and enjoying the view. Just like I do.

    I was going to say it knows exactly how I like my seat, but I just discovered last week that I can adjust the seat so there’s not a big bar sticking in the middle of my back! Who knew?  After eight years? I guess you can still learn new things about old cars no matter how long you’ve known them. And people too. With all its quirks and inconveniences, I love my car and I’m hoping it’ll last another million miles.

    My phone was the worst though. It was really old and well loved. It knew me so well. I don’t think another phone could ever know me so well. I know, I know, people talk about an Apple ID and you just sign in on the new phone and all of a sudden, all your stuff is there and then the new phone knows you too. I don’t really believe that. I got a new phone and I tried it. It doesn’t understand my typos, like my old phone did. This new phone corrects my typos to actual words!!! 

    “That’s not what I meant at all, New Phone! Old Phone would have totally known that” I actually said out loud the other day.

    It doesn’t know that I lose my phone all the time and there’s no reason to panic. Old phone just sits there and rolls his eyes and waits and waits for me to figure out where I left him. 

    New Phone is all panicky. “Where have you been? Why did you leave me alone? I thought you were lost forever!!!”

    New Phone needs to chill out.

    I do think it is pretty cool though how you can put one phone next to the other phone and they just transfer information and send stuff between them. How do they do that? It’s like magic!

    My old phone got to the point where it just wouldn’t send texts sometimes. (Maybe it knew I really shouldn’t send those texts, but still, it should do what it’s told) It just wouldn’t receive texts sometimes. I would get a notification that I got a text, but I couldn’t find it when I opened my text messages.

    There was also NEVER enough storage on my old phone so every time there was an update I have to delete everything. And still, there was not enough room for the update. Sometimes there was not enough storage for me to clock in on my work app. And don’t even get me started on pictures! There was never enough storage for me to take pictures.

    Sometimes I would delete and delete and delete a bunch of pictures I didn’t necessarily need (although I really wanted) and still there would be no room for me to take one picture. 

    “I just deleted 30 pictures!” I would say to Old Phone. “And you won’t even let me take one?”

    My phone said “no.” I get it. He was tired. I am too.

    I was at the vet’s office and they had the cutest little sign saying if your dog has anxiety, take this little bandana and lay it over her/him because it has been sprayed with something calming. (Well, the sign said it in a much more eloquent way. That’s why I wanted to take a picture!)

    I thought it was the cutest little sign, and I took one bandana and laid It over my dog. It had autumn leaves on it, and she looked so cute! I wanted to take a picture of the sign and take a picture of my dog to send to my family chat because I knew they would love it. But Old Phone said “no.”

    Even after I deleted so many things I just begged it for just one more picture and it said “no.”

    Also, the camera only worked in selfie mode. I’ve gotten pretty skilled though at taking every picture I need to take in selfie mode. I mean, doesn’t everyone just want my face in the corner of every picture I take? OK, probably NOT everyone.

    So I finally got a new phone, and I don’t know what the hype is about a new phone. I don’t know why people are so excited. It’s just a phone. It’s fine. It sends my texts. It receives my texts. It lets me take pictures. But really, I just miss Old Phone. My old phone was comfortable, well worn, and well loved, even with all his bad habits.

    Sometimes I think I want nice new things. The other morning, I was sitting on my couch looking around my house and I thought to myself that I really needed new baskets for the dog toys. This was after I woke up that morning and said to myself that I’m not going to buy anything unnecessary today.

    The current baskets are not even baskets! They are plastic bins the dog toys have been in for years. (and they have NEVER bothered me) They were bins that used to hold my kids’ toys when they were babies. These bins are over 15 years old. They don’t match and they are cracked down the side and cracked down the back. They are just not very pretty. Doesn’t my dog deserve better? For the toys she NEVER plays with. And besides, wouldn’t it just make my house look so pretty?

    So, I hopped on Amazon, and I bought my dog two new matching baskets for her toys. We have one in the front room and one in the back of the house. Honestly, she doesn’t even play with toys. It was the other dog that played with toys, but they are all still here.

    The new baskets are very pretty. They are woven baskets with a the cute little dog bone on them. 

    I was all excited when they came and I switched out the dog toys and showed them to my dog who didn’t care. She loves old well-loved things the best too.  After all, she loves me.  

    After three days of looking at them and how pretty they made my house look, I decided that I didn’t like the new dog toy baskets. 

    They were too nice and too new and too fancy. And the old ones reminded me of my kids when they were babies. They also reminded me of my old dog too who would often pull out all the toys.  And not clean them up.

    Good thing I hadn’t thrown the old bins out. I just threw them in the garage. I dug through the garage and found those old plastic broken bins and I returned those new dog baskets. It’s funny how you don’t really realize how much you love something sometimes. It is funny how they look perfect to me now.  Mismatched, well loved and all.

    It’s like that with people sometimes too. We get old and we get broken and we get worn out and we get boring. I hope no one will ever trade me in for something new and shiny. 

    That’s the thing though, we learn to love people just like we learn to love things. We love them with their faults, and with their broken parts. We love them because we know them so well, and even their annoying habits become endearing. We love them because they are not perfect. And neither are we.

    The world would be such a better place if we were happy with what we had instead of wanting something new and pretty, if we appreciated a little more our old well-loved things that brought us comfort, and if we were just happy with our old broken plastic dog toy bins.

  • There is a Hamster in My Closet

    Screenshot

    Our dog recently passed away. It’s heartbreaking to watch your kids so upset and you will do anything to alleviate the smallest bit of heartache for them, so when my son asked for a hamster, what did we do? Against all better judgement, we ran out and got him a hamster… and all the accessories… and the largest cage around, because my sweet son was worried the cheaper cage would not be big enough. This didn’t seem like the time to point out that it’s called a hamster cage, so, obviously it’s big enough for a hamster. We got a rat cage instead. Why do rats need more room? Because of their tail?

    Oh, hamster memories. Hamsters are not my friend. This is not our first hamster. We’ve had three. The first was named Sammy G and, if I remember correctly, I think I forgot to feed him… and he died… and my oldest son found him. He was so traumatized he had to stay home from school that day. I really thought I fed him, but maybe I didn’t. Maybe he didn’t like my cooking either.

    A couple years later, my youngest wanted a hamster for his birthday. As you’ve come to realize, I cannot say no to my kids, so we went out and we got him a hamster. He named him Cupcake. Cupcake was a sweet little guy, and he would let the kids hold him and kiss him. The boys loved Cupcake, and they played with him all the time. I think they played a little too rough with him because it got to the point where Cupcake just turned grumpy. He didn’t want to be held or even touched. Those sweet little boys still tried though but he had developed a bad hamster attitude.

    There was a little latch that opened on the top of Cupcake’s cage, and I constantly reminded the kids to make sure it was closed all the way. Well, I’m sure you can guess what happened.

    One morning I sent the boys off to school, and I went about my morning chores, which did involve feeding the hamster. See? I can learn from my mistakes. Sometimes. Well, the latch was not closed, and the hamster was gone. (insert Brita’s worried face here)

    At this point, we had two dogs in our house and one cat. Two dogs that love to chase and eat little critters like a hamster. One was a hunting dog and the other a pit bull. I was sure there was no way that Cupcake could have survived being free in that house. I imagined my sweet little doggies swallowing him whole. I was so sad about Cupcake and felt like a failure of a hamster mom. Again!

    Of course I searched the whole house thoroughly while calling his name loudly. Did I honestly think that would help? He’ll be hiding somewhere and when he heard his name he would come bounding out and jump into my arms? Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

    After I searched the house, I sat each one of the pets down and questioned them. They all swore up and down and on my life that they had not seen Cupcake and had absolutely not eaten Cupcake. I kind of believed the cat because, if it was her, there would’ve been a body somewhere. Unless she had been in cahoots with one of the dogs. She kills it, he eats it, so I will never know what they were up to. Anyway, they all were very convincing, so I really had no further leads at this point.

    I completely freaked out, I called my then husband at work, and I told him we had to find a replacement. I told him we could not tell the kids that the hamster is missing and most likely eaten by one of their beloved other pets. We would have to call or go to every pet store in all of Wilmington and find a Russian dwarf hamster that looked just like Cupcake.

    You would think I would’ve learned my lesson with the pet beta fish the boys had. It kept dying and I didn’t have the heart to teach them about death yet, so we kept replacing that beta fish. Sometimes it was a slightly different color, slightly different size, but we told the boys that the food we gave him was magic, color-changing food. I think that’s actually what it’s called, but I don’t think it really changes the color that much, but the boys believed it. They had the only beta fish in the world that lived for 10 years. And even at the end, we didn’t have the heart to tell them, so we said he was at the fish hospital. Then he ended up staying there for a few more years.

    But back to Cupcake. Since we obviously did not learn our lesson, or I obviously did not learn my lesson (my then husband was not completely on board with any of these shenanigans, but he went along), I started calling pet stores. Do you know how impossibly hard it is to find a Russian dwarf hamster in Wilmington that looks exactly like Cupcake?!? First of all, we need more pet stores in Wilmington, and second of all, they all need to stock up on Russian dwarf hamsters. After hours and hours, we found one Russian dwarf hamster.

    He was half the size of Cupcake, and he had a mellow temperament, which was the opposite of Cupcake, but, beggars can’t be choosers, right? I put him in Cupcake’s cage, and then just acted like everything was normal. Whistling happily as I swept the floor and stuff.

    There was definitely some questioning.

    “Is Cupcake OK?”

    “Cupcake looks smaller.”

    “Cupcake is nice, now.”

    Those were some of the comments from my confused children, but I just brushed them all off.

     I said, “It’s fine, it’s fine. He’s lost a little weight. He’s been working out. He joined a hamster gym. Also, I had a big talk with him and he decided that life is too short to be grumpy, so he decided to be nice now.”

    They were a little skeptical, but I did a good job of convincing them and life went on as normal. Whew! I thought to myself as a high fived myself. You sure got away with that one! (sounds like famous last words, right?)

    72 hours later, I was putting my youngest son to bed. We read books in his bed together and then I would stay with him in his bed until he fell asleep. We picked our books out, and I was standing next to his bed about to get in when I felt something run over my foot! I nearly screamed but kept my composure because I didn’t want to scare my son. I was worried it was a cockroach or something like that, but I looked down and sure enough, there is original Cupcake! Looking fat and healthy and running right across the floor.

    How in the heck did he survive? He got upstairs and over to the opposite side of the house!?! He was gone 72 hours, without food or water! I acted all normal, but I watched him scurry into the corner of the room behind a dresser and a few paintings that we had been meaning to hang up.

    Of course, I couldn’t mention anything to my son, so I lay in bed with him with my eyes wide open fixed on that corner trying to make sure Cupcake didn’t escape. It seemed like that night it took him forever to fall asleep. When he finally did, I tiptoed out of the room and got a container for cupcake. I crawled back in the room with my phone flashlight and slithered around on the floor on my belly between the paintings and behind the dresser until I finally caught Cupcake!

    I immediately gave Cupcake some food, and that little hamster water bottle. I had to hold it upside down into the container because there was nowhere to attach it to the sides. Please drink, little guy. I can’t sit here all night, holding the water bottle in your container.

    I couldn’t believe that he had survived 72 hours without food or water and with predators lurking. I pictured it like he was in a video game, trying to avoid the vicious dogs and cat. I didn’t know what to do with him, so I hid him in my closet and shut the door.

    I immediately woke up my then husband.

    “Quick! Get up! I need your help!”

    I shook him awake.

    “What? What?”
    He pounces out of bed all ready to fight a burglar.

    “Come here! I’m here!”
    I dragged him to my closet and I open it.

    “There is a hamster in my closet!”
    -me

    OK.
    -then husband

    There is a hamster in my closet!!!
    -me harsher whisper

    Yes, I see that.
    -then husband

    There’s a hamster in my closet! A hamster in my closet!
    -me again with more urgency in my loud whisper

    You’ve said that.
    -then husband

    It’s Cupcake! He’s alive.
    -me

    Great!
    -then husband

    Not great! Now we have two hamsters!
    -me with desperation in my voice

    OK, not great. I’m going back to bed.
    -then husband

    What?!? No! You can’t go back to bed. There is a hamster in my closet!
    -me

    I am aware of that. But it’s four in the morning. I’m going to bed.
    -then husband

    How can you sleep when there’s a hamster in my closet?
    -me

    I can sleep just fine.
    -then husband

    Well, I can’t sleep with a hamster in my closet!
    -me

    Well, then put him in my closet.
    -then husband

    (Why do we ask men for help and advice?)

    But then there will be a hamster in your closet.
    -me

    I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the middle of the night. I have to work tomorrow. What good is it going to do if we both just sit up because there’s a hamster in your closet? How does that solve anything? I’m going to bed.
    -then husband

    I started to cry.

    Of course I was appalled! How could he sleep at a time like this? Rude!

    Looking back now it makes sense that there was really nothing to be done about it at four in the morning, but at that moment, I had to solve the hamster in my closet problem.

    I paced the floor thinking…

    Should I replace Original Cupcake? No, the boys will be even more confused that Cupcake got fat and turned mean overnight.

    Can you return a hamster?

    Can you return the wrong hamster?

    It’s fine, it’s fine, I told myself. I will just give away a hamster. There’s got to be somebody out there who wants a free hamster. I will just hop on Facebook and all the other pages I’m on and offer a free hamster. It will be great. When I wake up in the morning, there will be tons of replies of people who want this hamster. I could bring it to them when the boys are at school and the problem will be solved. I patted myself on the back for being such a genius and went to bed.

    Do you want to know how many replies I had when I woke up the next morning from people wanting a free hamster? None! Zero! Not one!

    That cannot be right. I thought my Messenger would just be flooded. Is my Facebook working? I’ll give it a couple more hours. I did post in the middle of the night and people are just waking up now and checking their Facebook so I’m sure by the afternoon there will be a list a mile long of people just begging for this free hamster. I will just have to keep him alive in my closet until then.

    I kept peeking my head in the closet when the boys weren’t looking.

    “Are you doing OK? Are you hungry? Do you want me to hold that little upside-down water bottle in there again for you for five minutes? Can I get you anything else? Hey- maybe you should write a book about surviving 72 hours with the predators in the Nicol house! Something to think about while you wait. Just hang on! I’m going to find you the best little hamster home ever!” (I think I even blew him a little kiss to show him how serious I was)

    Well, nobody wanted a free hamster. Unbelievable, right? So, after many tumultuous back-and-forth conversations with myself, I decided that I just needed to own up to what I did and tell the boys the truth. After all, won’t they just be thrilled that Cupcake is not dead? And super proud of his survival skills. We can get him on some reality survival show or something.

    “So you lied to us?” my oldest asked.

    “Well, that’s a bit of a harsh word… Something like that…. Sort of along those lines…. but I only did it because I didn’t want you guys to be sad if Cupcake was dead. But he’s not dead! Yay!” (Hands up in the air to convey my excitement, hoping it will rub off on them)

    “But, it is not OK to lie. Mommy should not have done that. Everyone makes mistakes. She will do better next time she kills a pet of yours.” OK, I only said that last part in my mind. Not out loud.

    But now, I told them they could each have a hamster. Cupcake would go back to my youngest and my oldest can have this new hamster which he immediately named Tyrone. Perfect! Cupcake and Tyrone. Maybe they will be best friends! Can two hamsters go in the same cage? Of course they can. There’s more than one hamster in those cages at the pet store, but just to be sure we called the pet store to ask.

    We were told that most likely they can get along, but sometimes hamsters just don’t get along with each other. The best thing to do was put them both in an empty bathtub together and see how they get along. Well, this sounds cute, doesn’t it?

    It wasn’t. The boys and I put these two little hamsters in the bathtub with smiles on our faces expecting some brotherly love stuff to go on. Well, it was like WW-whatever fighting (I can never remember the letters) where literally they just get completely beaten up. Cupcake went at sweet little Tyrone like he was a rabid dog who hadn’t eaten in weeks. I was literally scared to put my hand in there because I was sure I would lose a few fingers. Personally, I would’ve let them just fight to the death to save my fingers. I know it sounds cruel, but I’m really going to need those in life.

    BUT I had two innocent little boys standing next to me with eyes wide literally screaming in fear (I think I was screaming too) so I did what all good moms would do and risked my fingers and hands for my children. That might be the bravest thing I have ever done. I reached in and grabbed little Tyrone out of the bathtub. All three of us sat on the bathroom floor crying, inspecting Tyrone for injuries. It must’ve been my quick reaction, but somehow he survived unscathed. Physically. Not sure what emotional damage was caused.

    “Well! Looks like we get to go to the pet store and buy another hamster cage!”

    The boys were thrilled and had to buy every single hamster accessory, so I walked out of there after dropping $300. That is what I get for lying to my kids.

    Now I have to keep two hamsters alive and change their stinky cages regularly. Did I tell you that I never wanted hamsters? And actually, I think I’m allergic to them.