Toys and Life

This week I am keeping two of our grandchildren while their mommy and daddy enjoy a week in Florida. The granddaughter will soon be 4 and the grandson is 2 and a half. It is fun having them here for a week and it is challenging. She is a little drama queen and he is a fit thrower at home. They understand those behaviors are not tolerated at grandma’s but it is hard for them to remember that for so many days in a row.

Yesterday afternoon we made a quick trip to Walmart to pick up a few things. I had them both in one of the buggies designed for two kids and had them strapped in. As we went by the display of balls, the little fit thrower decided to do his thing. It started with a mad squeal and pointing at the balls. When I ignored him he began kicking as hard as he could and he started to scream – he started to – I cut it off within 2 seconds with a very stern and serious “you will not scream and cry. I will give you a big whoopin right here in Walmart if you don’t stop RIGHT NOW.” He looked at me to see if I meant it. He knew I did. He stuck his bottom lip out and whimpered. The rest of our Walmart visit was very pleasant, thank you.

I am a whoopin’ grandma and the kids know it – all the kids that is – the parents and the grandkids. I want to enjoy my grandchildren not dread an impending visit. There isn’t much I can do about their behavior when their parents are around, which is why I offer to babysit so much. The grandkids are more enjoyable sans parents. They act better, there is no yelling and screaming and no fits.

But I digress…

My mother-in-law cleaned out an upstairs bedroom and brought us some old toys. These are toys my husband and sister-in-law likely played with as children. I have seen these toys during visits to the in-laws and these are not toys I really want to own. Most should have been disposed of long ago. But Mother-In-Law wants the toys to go to good use and she is of the frugal generation so she passed them along.

I’ve only ventured into one of the two boxes. This box was full of old Barbie dolls. Before you collectors get excited and offer me large sums of money for the treasure, believe me, you don’t want to do that. Because I will take your money and send you “the stuff” in return.

There were seven Barbies and one Ken in the box. The box is actually a old Barbie case that unfolds into a Barbie “room.” The box contained several mismatched outfits and several scraps of fabric, which I passed off as “blankets” for the Barbies.

First let’s talk about Ken. He was missing both legs below the knees and only had one arm. He was completely naked and there were no clothes in the box for him (unless he was a cross dresser). I studied the poor Ken doll and considered his missing limbs and lack of appropriate clothng.  He must be the Vietnam Vet Ken. The house wasn’t his either, it had Barbie’s name all over it. Poor Vietnam Vet Ken was homeless, naked, missing limbs and his sex organs. Our government should be ashamed of the way we treat our veterans. Of course, he could also been the Divorced and Screwed Over Ken.

 

Let’s talk about the Barbies now. Two of the Barbies have no legs. Granddaughter loves them any way and puts dresses on them for work so “nobody can see they don’t have no wegs.” They go to work and ride in the Tonka truck (those whores!) and live a normal life in the Barbie room.  They have lots of blankets to keep them warm.

Two of the Barbies are bald which leads me to believe at one point a Beauty School Barbie was giving out free haircuts. Either that or those two Barbies were SAHM Barbies and had three children under the age of three and husbands who liked to drink and carouse after work each night pissing them off to no end and instead of bitching at the worthless bastards, they just sat around internalizing their anger and pulling their hair out. But it could have been Beauty School Barbie in beginner hair cutting class.

Granddaughter just loves the Barbies and the limited accessories they arrived with: a few mismatched shoes, a fish net bathing suit coverup a hand crocheted hat, a few dresses with rusted snaps, a couple of pair of pants and other odd clothing articles. She is content playing for long periods of time. I, however, am having issues with the bedraggled, maimed and disabled Barbies. Every time I look at the Barbie house and scattered accessories, I feel very sad about the Barbies.  Some people are forced to live in the most horrible situations. 

There are seven Barbies in one room.  There are two twin beds, so thank god for all the extra Barbie blankets.  They don’t have a car and are forced to ride in the back of the Tonka dump truck to get to work.  Their shoes don’t match and there are not enough shoes for all the Barbies, and that is sad considering two Barbies don’t need shoes as they have no legs.  There should be a government program somewhere to help these Barbies, but alas, there is no Social Worker Barbie listed in the phone book.

Yesterday while Granddaughter napped, I euthanized poor Vietnam Vet Ken. He really had too many things wrong and I just couldn’t have a nekkid man with no man parts hanging around the house. It was just too depressing. Even if there were facilities to assist poor Vietnam Vet Ken, no one had the money to spare.   I haven’t decided what to do about the legless whores on the Tonka truck as I feel I owe them a chance. Maybe they didn’t mean to loose their legs. Maybe they tried to fill up the Barbie Jeep and gas was so high it cost them a leg.

I didn’t realize Granddaughter would get so much enjoyment out of Barbies at her age. The next time I go to Walmart, I will pick up some Barbie accessories and maybe a Barbie or two. Maybe if we can get a newer model that is not old, frazzled and experiencing female hair loss, we can move on and get rid of the undesirable Barbies. We can get new Barbies with nice clothes and bling bling.  Maybe even a Barbie corvette and let’s not forget the dream house.  Who in their right mind would stick with an old worn out ugly balding  Barbie when they can have Younger Woman Trophy Wife Barbie?  That’s how it works in real life, isn’t it?

Pine Cones Along The Way

Last Saturday morning, like most Saturday mornings, was date morning for my husband and me.  We get up early – but not as early as we do during the work week. We enjoy coffee on our screened in porch and then we go for a morning run.

Last Saturday had a tight schedule as we had things to do all day.  Our schedule was:

6:00 am – up and at ‘em.  Kona coffee on porch (Kona coffee is reserved for weekends only)

6:30 am – out the door, hit the road

7:30 am – finished with run.  He cleans up, I water flowers

8:45 am – he goes to eye doc, I study for speech competition coming up

10 am – depart for Memphis, stop and have a nice brunch along the way

1 pm – speech competition

2:30 pm – done with competition.  Stop for lunch or snack, depending on hunger.  Stop by Verizon store

4:30 – home!  Get dish prepared and other items needed for annual block party.

6 pm – annual block party…..

I was pumped Saturday morning.  I felt good.  Running was easy for a change.  I’m still working on the Chi posture, so far I have cut one minute and 15 seconds off my one mile time and I am getting better at it.

My husband and I do not run “together” as in side by side.  Running requires a lot of mental focus for me.  When he first started running with me years ago, having him within ear shot was the most distracting and annoying thing I ever experienced.  I do not imagine myself in competition with anyone while I’m running, I am in competition with myself and my abilities.  So having someone blowing and breathing and coughing and spitting and hocking up stuff right on my ass just did not do.  I made the rule – he has never liked it but realizes if he does not abide by this one itty bitty rule of running that we will never ever run at the same time again.  The rule is that there must be one minute between us.

When we start our run he goes first.  I wait one minute and then I start.  This means he always “wins” which is good because he is competitive and he needs to win.  I don’t give a shit as long as I don’t have to listen to bodily functions while running.  So we’re both happy.

With my new Chi posture, I pass him along the 3 mile course.  I’m not trying to pass him, it just works out that way because the Chi running is just faster.

On Saturday, I passed him right at the half mile mark.  I was feeling good, the running was smooth.  I felt I had energy and I was loving the run.  When I got to the one mile mark, my watch was at 8 minutes and 39 seconds.  I was happy running Bitch!  I felt like that olympic marathon lady who’s face will be forever imprinted in my mind.

I could see the turn around just ahead at the 1,5 mile marker.  That’s when it happened.  I felt my ankle twist and down I went.  All the way on my ass in the middle of town on Main Street.  I was on my ass on the sidewalk.  I pulled myself over to the grass.  My ankle was on fire and I was in great pain.  I looked at the sidewalk.  I tripped over a freaking PINE CONE.

My husband caught up with me and since he loves me a lot, he stopped to help me.  I sat there crying for a few minutes.  He said I had to get up so I did.  I could barely put weight on the foot, but I could walk.  My plan was to walk up to the house in front of us and ask for a ride home.  Before we could hobble to the driveway, a neighbor drove by and stopped.  He offered us a ride home and we took it.

Our entire schedule went out the window.  We did make it to the all important speech contest.  I limped in, did my thing and limped out.  Took care of business at the Verizon Store and made it back in time to get ready for the block party, even if we were 15 minutes late.

I had to travel on Monday.  I wore an industrial strength brace on my xray confirmed badly sprained ankle.  It’s been sore, but I’ve managed.  I stopped limping on Wednesday only because the muscles it took to limp were starting to hurt.  The doctor said I should stay off the ankle for two weeks.  HA!  He should know by now I don’t have time to stay off my ankle.

I arrived back home yesterday afternoon.  When my husband got home from work he wanted to go for a run.  I knew I couldn’t run, but I had been traveling all day and I felt tired and worn out.  A nice walk with my ipod sounded great so I tightened the brace and went out for a walk.  We walked the warm up laps together.  The brace digging into my foot and lower calf hurt, the ankle did not.  He decided to run one of our 2 mile routes so I decided to walk it.

He took off and I was speed walking behind him.  Once I got used to the brace, I walked faster and faster.  It wasn’t enough.  From inside my gut, I wanted to run.  I fought my urge to just do it.  I know better.  I don’t want to re-injure or prolong the healing. But everything inside me wanted to RUN.  Just do it.  RUN.  I made 1/2 mile walking.  I could stand it no longer.  I started a very slow, light jog.

It was wonderful!  I jogged along carefully, measuring every step.  My ankle felt fine.  I increased my tempo.  I kept running.  I arrived at the turn around point.  I kept running straight ahead.  I couldn’t help it, it is just something I had to do.  I stopped running on the way back for a few minutes so I wouldn’t over do it.  I made myself walk to a certain point and then off I went again….

I did 2.2 miles in 23 minutes and 41 seconds.  I guess I didn’t do as much walking as I thought.

What is it about running that makes it so addicting to me?  I don’t run hard enough or long enough to get the “runner’s high”.  It is not easy for me to run, most of the time it is a struggle.  But I feel it on the inside, I MUST run.  I’m not doing it to maintain some unrealistic low weight (that’s a laugh with my 22 BMI). If I’m getting an adrenalin rush out it I don’t know it.  I can resist chocolate better than I can resist running.  Not that I resist chocolate that often….

Whoops!  Look at the time!  Sorry – gotta run.

Fly Over Update

I owe myself a nice long update, but today’s fly by news is too good not to get on the internet before something else equally stupid happens and I forget.

We boarded the small regional jet yesterday.  An asshole was on his cellphone with a loud voice that almost everyone on the plane could hear.  He was talking to Mark, a compliance person in his logistics company.  Apparently Asshole thinks Mark sabotaged him.  He was yelling at Mark and asking questions like “what problem do you have with me?  Why are you sabotaging all my projects?  Why didn’t you come to me with these concerns?  Why did you take this to my boss?”  There would be a brief silence in which we assume the poor Mark was answering and Asshole would start back in on him.  “How would YOU fix this Mark?  What is YOUR recommendation?  Are you trying to take my job?  What is your problem Mark?  Your killing our whole company with this kind of sabotage.” 

My seat mate and I, who not even spoken the polite “hello” when we sat down started interjecting our comments on Asshole and the poor Mark.  Asshole started his goodbye telling poor Mark he would call him from Tulsa.  I recommended that Mark go home sick for the day.  As soon as Asshole got off the phone with poor Mark the saboter, he called someone else and rehashed his phone call with Mark.  Asshole started saying “I told Mark this and that” and my seat mate and I both looked at each other with wide eyes.  NO HE DID NOT!  We heard the whole conversation and Asshole did not say this and that. 

He had to be firmly told by the flight attendant more than once to turn off his phone. 

Asshole is one of the primary reasons I am adamantly against cell phone usage on planes.  I had heard all of Asshole I wanted to hear cooped up in a crowded tiny airplane.  I sure didn’t want to listen to him all the way to Tulsa.  Not sure he would have made it that far anyway as he was annoying everyone around us.  I’m sure he would have ended up stuffed into the blue water of the lavratory somewhere over Arkansas.

Interlude:  My new favorite airport is Tulsa.  In all my years of flying, I have never been so impressed by the design, calmness, quiet, and the absolute FRIENDLINESS of every single employee in that airport.  It amazed me – in today’s evironment of crabby people and stressed out, rude airline and travel employees, that every single person I came into contact with at the Tulsa airport SMILED and SPOKE.  The TSA people were also friendly and (gasp) helpful. 

Tulsa – you have set the bar.  You have beat Charlotte.

So my connection this afternoon is in Memphis, my home airport.  I was sitting at the gate working on my laptop when I heard commotion coming down the corridor.  A medic was pushing a woman in a wheelchair who was in obvious medical distress.  She was gasping for breath and crying.  The medic was pushing very fast with another medic running along behind.

A tall man in his finest business suit had the damn audacity to STOP the medic and ask for directions to his gate.  Oh my god.  Are people that damn self centered and clueless?  If I had not been in the middle of my monthly report, I would have told the idiot off. 

Airports.  It doesn’t get more interesting than this.