Tag: humour

Posted on in essay, family, granparent life, humor, life, sixty

The Claw Can Lose!

The first haul from the claw!

Going to an arcade with a five-year-old is a blast. As a grandparent you cherish the smiles, the firsts, the games you choose and do not choose to play. You do, however, just because you are a grandparent and let’s face it this is more fun than parenthood. Truth. Even better is the fact that my nugget outsmarted the claw four times over. Yes, the impossible claw, that my husband and I swore to our own son, “the claw always wins.” We were cheap. Well, with the nugget, who cares. This is our third or fourth trip. I stayed with the mantra, but dad gave in… well, toys came out galore. “Grandma, I won. I beat the claw.” Of course, this is really the first time I have seen anyone win at the claw, so I was overjoyed and yes, we continued to play. Why not? Yes, there is more loot (one stuffed item for all) as he shares nicely. The Kermit like figure, is my gift from my grandson, which I will cherish. All $50.00 of him! A grandparent’s time is pricey but well worth it, as parents, usually cannot do what we can due to just life being expensive. It is our time. I never did arcades with our son. Never, but the nugget, after reading me a book gets the moon and I get the love of Kermitish.

Kermitish

The Kermitish, will be my forever. It was the combination of the sharing, the excitement, and just the enjoyment of the day. Nugget laughed at the name. I would as well, it is goofy. But so is an arcade and an after delight of a kid’s movie in a fancy theater. These days are precious, and they are coupled with the delight of reading, watching him tie shoes. Almost. Helping me pick out a Halloween costume (Blues Clue) down to the tights and ears. Since it was cost effective, and it made him happy, why not? No reason, sans my dignity but it for a school function. I lost any sanity and sense of costume style long ago. So, while the claw can lose, news to me, grandparents who put in the time, a few bucks, and plans for the years ahead to share in their lives, will never. That to me is the adventure, I will gladly continue to take, as long as Kermitish can come along for the ride, and he will. In the arcade I had an epiphany. Odd, yes. But it was the consistent flashing lights that brought on an idea he will never forget. Wherever we travel so will the Kerm, sort of like Flat Stanely, with postcards, journals, and of course pictures of grandma and grandpa (unwillingly) and the Kerm, wherever we go. So today, while was just a small adventure in an arcade and the viewing of a movie became so much more. It was compassion, sharing, beating the claw, and having a grandma make it into a lifetime of memories for all of us, especially the Kermitish because he thought his life would be inside a bubble, but now he will see the world. Eventually.

Posted on in dog training, german shephards, humor

I Smell Like Bacon and Other Dog Realities…

When it is blazing hot we take fun inside. But today we worked. I took the entire day to train one command. My training titles are a tad different from the traditional dog blogs. Why, I am not a trainer, just a GSD mom, who is in over her head. I trained every hour on the hour for ten minutes. My command. Get off my effing lap. Now, she is a jumper, because she is a dog, but she is seventy pounds and my height. It ain’t cute. It was my first order of business and unless super thrilled or overly crazy, she no longer jumps on me as I stroll through my air conditioned sanctuary and our makeshift training grounds. Now, she is not a food girl. But I found her weakness bacon treats. Disgusting. Little tiny preshaped bones, are her version of cavier and because I am cheap and do not want a chubby pup. I break them up to almost a powder form that she licks with delight. I now smell like prefabricated bacon.

We worked from chair to chair in my house. Of course with both pups, because the other one is well a follower, and while he would never jump, he thinks he is working. Not so bright. Loving. But. He enjoys short walks, a bone, and getting brushed. She is killing me. All day she was amazing. I thought I had this off my to do list before school resumes. Nope. At the end of the night, up she came again and this time sat on my lap to watch TV. That little b**** . Literally. I ignored her as the experts say to ignore. I got up (interesting maneuver) and walked away, again the experts wise expertise. I sat in another chair and called her over and I gave her love when all paws were down, if one paw came up for a cute look at me, it was a stern stare, a hand before her face and a NO, a quiet one. This was my call. We did this in every chair with the added bacon. She did not jump. I brought her back to reality and put her to bed. She is truly more tired than I am. She knows she met her match. But she will test again and again and again. Until she gets that it is a hard no, or until I permanently smell like bacon. As for her buddy he got brushed ate a nice rawhide bone and was happy.

Posted on in education, essay, humor

Dripping With Kids

The advantages to starting school on the first week of August in Arizona are non-existent. Zero. Zilch. Nada. I have done this for twenty-eight years. While my first year picture (cover shot) looks cool and comfy, that is due to a bundle of makeup, and washing my face fifteen minutes before the photo shoot, of sorts. Or the stand, turn to the left. No too much, to the right. Perfect. Smile. Next, nightmare. It is hot, humid, and we drip in sweat as most of air conditioning in our building is a tad on the older side. In every building. If you want me I am in the hot room.

So I melt. I am assigned to little to no makeup with a cute dress, preferably with pockets, and practical shoes. It’s a messy look. But I can spot an August teacher out in the wild in seconds. We all look the same as we toss real fashion out the window to survive the mileage we walk combined with our consistent state of heat. August stinks. Literally.

So, the pre-fall attire is best found in the cheapest stores. I consider it more disposable fashion. Now, a few of my pieces I love and are keepers, due to style, price, and quality. But bring on the big box stores and dupe fashion. If a piece is cool enough to get me through this period of time and has enough copy of fashion sense. I have bought it, in triplicate. This year very into the flowy dress, dignified menswear, and linen galore. Also, stepped up my shoe game with retro sneakers. All the rage and at sixty cool shoes are a must.

As we head into the starting gates. I am already wishing for October, for overall comfort and the ability to wear pieces that won’t target me as a teacher the moment I step outside of the classroom and allow me to wear makeup that won’t drip down my face, and to the release of the holiday trio of delights. The cardigan, the light turtleneck, and sometimes a coat. Well, more of a jacket. This is Arizona.

Posted on in dog training, german shephards, humor

Welcome to Doggie Charm School…

Leave it, sit, stay, stay, stay, no…and a finally an occasional good dog. This is my new vocabulary. A chosen one. But words that I am already wanting to expand. Quickly. Coco and King are loved, wanted, but wow…a handful. I blame the small yippie dogs next door to us and the fact that they are allowed to bark all day long. But in reality my pups are just doing their job, too well. They need to quit. Turn in the resignation and spend their days getting spoiled. Breaking their German Shephard bad habits is my task this summer. Some days, I feel like a Master Teacher. But most days, especially today, I am struggling to get a passing grade. Shush, leave it, good dog etc works along with love and treats but they are toddlers mixed with teen brains, so my reputation is high and some days their desire to listen is low.

Their barking is the worst habit. Next up chewing if not monitored, and just overall a level of play that boggles the mind. But my day job is teaching teenagers, so if anyone has the patience, it is me…I think. This morning they wanted to get up before 5 am. Nope. We did go out to create more shit for me to pick up, but back to crates for me to choose their morning walk time. Now this time is akin to a toddler running to the next line at Disneyland, or it was. It took six weeks, but we have a routine with no pulling. No longer do I fly down the street. So, this morning, I will wait. They will wait and perhaps they will learn that I enjoy the light of the day. Or not.

Do I have suggestions? Absolutely not but my new reading genre is self-help for GSD, but if you are reading this and just found a shoe, chair or chairs in tatters. Remember you are not alone. Just stay patient, calm, and take it one day at a time. There should be a group for this…Hi, my name is Tracy, I have two GSD and no patio furniture…insert no judgement and other stories with a prayer to not find disaster awaiting you during your escape. It would fill.

***Please note, my reference to a dog discussion (self-help) group does not make light of sobriety groups. They save lives. I know that, first hand.***

Posted on in family, granparent life, grey hair, non-fiction, retirement

I Don’t Wrap and The 35th Anniversary Gift Saga.

After thirty-five years together, it is the thought that counts and I tend to spoil. Always. But wrapping is not my thing. I learned long ago, when stores were grand, they wrapped for you. I never looked back. Now, I bag with the best of them, just don’t wrap. Don’t ask. Amazon has wrap service which delights my senses but only sometimes. This maddens me especially when the gifts are for our 35th anniversary. Now, for a non-wrapper my love language is over the top wrapping, because I know you can find good stores, that still wrap. Major hint. I asked my hubs what he wanted because I do survive on a teachers salary, unless I “lift” a credit card and deal with the repercussions. I did that once. I bought a Porsche. Yes, yes I did. We kept it, still have it. Those were the days. As we age my budget became well cut-off.

So, we are building a house. It’s all he wants. Can’t wrap that. Phew. The decor is my gig, modern nautical with island whimsy. What does that mean? I don’t know but it sounds fancy AF. I have been plotting items for two years and I definitely want a bit of old with the new. So I searched for our first two antique pieces to give it the old/new/island vibe. Obviously, pleased with myself, as they sit boxed on our kitchen table, waiting for May 28th, number thrity-five. Not as grand as a sportscar but hopefully the true thought, search, and future memories that will come from the gifts, will be perfect for a major years celebration. One that is filled with much love, patience, and moments of change as we head into our next seasons together forever.

Posted on in back pain, fitness, goals, health, life, Peloton

The Nibbler

Long ago, in a land far, far away I was a no pain, no gain gal. Since my back injury. I call myself a nibbler. I get to my goals for the day or on most days but in baby bites. I don’t have any illusion, that my body will transform into goddess like looks, but I know I am moving and that is finally what matters. Obviously, I am now back to my physical normality, with limits. I am biking more than five minutes a day. In fact, I can withstand fifteen to thirty minutes, but usually stay with fifteen three to five days a week, because the grazing concept with constant adding of time works at this juncture.

So, whether your a grazer like me, couple miles walking, biking, and back to yoga or the lift till you die or break your foot, kinda gal. Go for it! Movement is movement anyway you can get it into your day. But for those that lift astronomical weights, I watch your videos in awe and fear you will drop them and scream in a pain not meant for your stories. So, please spot, because I worry. I do.

Posted on in family, granparent life

Mothers With Superpowers

All mothers have a special power or two up their sleeves. This comes from years of practice, and frankly out of necessity, because this gig is hard. The baby insta pictures melt my heart but we all know the back story of any photo shoot. Blowouts, crying, begging, the crazy money on the right outfit etc. No child smiles on command. Nope. I like the more natural instas, such as asleep in the car after miles of driving, toddlers walking the planks of planes, trying to convince a one year old that we are almost done with the ear pain, by allowing chocolate cookies to be consumed and somehow all over grandma. No tears. Perfect traveller. Grandma, certified bum status with an embarrassed son, once he awoke. Memories. I did get an airline pin and the grandma of the day award. As things could have gotten loud. Ears are real. Now he hops on the plane, eats snack, either sleeps or watches movies. He is a champ. But I always pack cookies. Chocolate, for the memories and my child’s giggles. Back to our powers. New parents, you are finding your footing, if you are pregnant you are in your own world, we will see you on the otherside with a screaming toddler in Target. I can talk you down, why, I truly have superpowers.

Mother+Teacher+Grandmother equates an obvious Mattel toy coming to stores near you. Super Mother. Hears all, sees all, knows the optimal hours of inside vs errands and bribes with the best of them, and spots a lie from 100 yards away, and can’t be fooled. Wears jeans, white tees, white sneakers, and a blazer or puffy jacket for colder moments. I could go from chasing to lunch in a heartbeat. Those were the days. I later morphed into sporty mom. Same concept but tracksuits instead of jeans. Those were the days.

Now my status took years to perfect and the methods still work on my big kid and the nugget knows what’s up. He knows I glow with superness, but yet he does have my number and I, his. He thinks he is slick but feels at times it is game-set-match, as grandma is still champion. But sometimes even supermoms have limits, especially when he is only turning five. So, whether you are a new mom, old mom, grandparent, or just celebrating your mom. Ladies, we are special and our powers at any stage are amazing. So, enjoy your flowers, gifts, cards, rushed brunches with waiting lists. We don’t do that! Or the spare bottle of champagne you put in a sippy cup for the day. I don’t judge, as we all have the best job in the world, and we are just surviving another day, even if it’s our day, the best we can.

Posted on in anxiety, education, essay, goals, granparent life, grey hair, sixty

I Fear Retirement

Spring Break brings me a sense of peace, quiet, and the organization and rotation of clothes (love a good closet), and silence. This brings me joy, a needed recharge, and since I am nearing the end of my career, it causes me great concern as to what’s in my future retirement plans. Long ago, in my fantasy phase, We would hop on a cruise and do the world. Yes, with the hubs. “We” would go from port to port in utter class and see the world. I priced that. Not happening. But a yearly big trip can be organized and afforded. Yes, it can. One trip a year. Just one. A cruise maybe two, Denmark, Ireland, Fiji, Australia, Philippines, Japan, Germany. Italy, and a revisit to France and England. I love to go see, go explore, and go experience other cultures. So does the hubs, he just does not like the planning or spending. But we deserve a yearly exploration. Well, that is two weeks out of the year including packing. Now what. Truly, I draw a blank. Golf? Bad back. But I do like the fact that it takes all day. Again, bad back. Not an option. Besides, had a tantrum on a course with the hubs and picked up the ball, clubs, and chucked them. They did not go far. But it felt good. We went home, clubs in tow. My hubs won’t golf with me anymore.

Volunteering. Possible but when I cross the finish line of teaching, my giving myself for free, is over. But it’s not out of my possible options. Not sure who wants a retired teacher but someone might, or in reality, I might need them more. The fear of boredom is quite real and with golf out, traveling limited, grocery shopping with my husband out, way out. Have you seen those cute couples who banter about what cut of beef they want and actually enjoy the grocery experience? We are not them.

We are building a dream home up north and have another down south. Very south. Will we spend time there? Yes. But both places are in gorgeous areas with an abundance of quiet. I like a balance. Less and less as the years go on, but purpose and a little noise in life is needed. Teach online? Get my restorative yoga certification, open a Montessori school or a yoga studio in Neebish Island? Just continue my essays and complete the book? Or just waking up everyday to a new adventure and let the day unfold…Nah. structure is needed. Heck, I even ask to go to the bathroom and always will, so while retirement scares me the options are amazing.

Posted on in essay, family, granparent life, life, menopause

The Suit

Water is not my thing, even as a child. Ironically, I grew up in a desert with a pool in every home. My fear is directly due to the many drowning reports on the nightly news. The newscasters believe they are doing a service (and they are) but after fifty years of hearing the scary statistics, the only service they did for me was don’t get in the water, no matter how bloody hot you feel, at this moment. I can swim. Yes. The local nightly news taught me I had to learn. So I did. But as the years passed I became a pool lounger at an expert level. Dip a toe. Saunter to the chair. Order a drink, and repeat. The view brings me great peace as does the hotel service and bubbly. Oddly, I love to sail and passed my initial certification, but I don’t plan on captaining a boat. I am a lounger with an occasional standing moment at the helm and a bit of the bubbly. The boating love came after convincing myself that I am not in the water and technically I am correct. Being in requires a bathing suit or the current choices of ether small squares of material or big dresses that my grandmother wore when I grew up, which I can’t accept and thus going in the water or even pool lounging has been a big NO for years. Menopause has changed my overall look without my changing my diet or exercise. I could exist on air and I would still have rolls upon rolls in areas that were once flat.  So a bathing suit, has not been on my body, for a very long time. Through the years of heat, mental fog aka the beginning of this stage that never ends, I coped. I hid. I survived. Just a phase. We traveled in the winter to non-beachy areas. Accidental but freeing. London in November. Gorgeous rain and cold. Thankfully this meant turtlenecks, sensible pants, boots, large coats, and scarves. Turkey, obviously covered. In Paris, I was so busy looking Parisian and seeing everything that I could, no suit was necessary. I could hide my changes and frankly just accepted my new life. The last time I wore a suit in public, was twenty years ago in Spain, and twenty pounds ago. The hormonal overdrive phase of life has hit. I will be sixty in six weeks. Which should explain everything without getting technical. My acceptance of a new life stage has now turned to frustration and a daily dose of exasperation in the dressing moments. My body screams practical pull-ons and tunics and my head says hell no. Not yet or ever. Truth be told I have a few outfits that fit this category. They make me happy, in a comfortable way, but they always remind me of my grandmothers polyester granimals that fit her every physical need and frankly she always looked great, but I am not ready. The sixty year old woman does not really fit anywhere in the mainstream fashion industry. But we are having our moments in chain boutique shopping experiences, and while some great stuff can be found, we all come out looking the same which alerts others to the questioning of our desire for the AARP discount of the day. I digress. Back to the newest stressor. The need for a suit.

I am taking my grandnugget to a water park. Yes, not just a pool, but a park of people all in drippy stages of dress or undress with slides, arcades, and characters roaming the property. The nugget has been taking lessons and this is my treat. Now, this grandparent will do anything, but my hubs won’t. He won’t do the character related themed areas and this park fits that category. However, he has committed to Lego Land. It’s a lego thing for him. So that is a go. Disney. That’s on me, but I have a plan. We just don’t mention it until he is at least five years of age, maybe six. Back to the drippy park. After my commitment to what will be a great day. I went through my suits. I have two. Both seem small and lack the fabric I desire. All I can imagine is my very white body shuffling from one area to the next while toting all our necessities. In the pool bag, gone long ago. Luckily they are fancy neoprene now with stylish colors and options. This I can get into but the suit. Nope.

Thankfully, I love to research, and if beach bags have gone all neoprene like and fancy, perhaps the suit has more options than small triangles or massive printed dresses. Why loud prints? Is the dress not bold enough? A man must have created this horror with the mindset of, it will be easy to spot grandma in this checkered number. Within minutes of googling conservative suits, nicer than menopausal mama, I came upon a new trend, swimming leggings. Yup. They are made out of special material that dries quickly just like a regular suit with the special plus of covering, squeezing, and looking relatively sleek. Obviously, this is not a look for the lounging tanner. This legging idea (came through the swimming community) is practical for the swimming grandma desiring to swim with grandchildren and fighting the midst of unwanted body transformations. Rather than, running away from the day, or feeling less than in front of the skinny set or anyone under fourty. It will allow me to feel confident as I stroll the park without being worried about my size and the suit. That’s priceless.

Lands End seems to have the best choices, but also Target, Amazon, and even Walmart are in the game. Note: this is a non-sponsored post.

https://www.landsend.com/shop/womens-swim-shorts-leggings-swimsuit-cover-ups-swimsuits/S-xfh-xez-y5c-xhf-y9k-xec

Posted on in menopause

If I Could Not Fail?

This title reminds me of the bad morning prompts, that I give to my 7th graders, on journal writing mornings. AKA, I need five extra minutes to get my shit together mornings. Or leave me alone mornings. Or really, in the first ten minutes I have solved twenty-seven problems and listened to twelve stories and five bad jokes. Really bad. Those mornings are how the deep prompt times come alive. I can pull this stuff out of my arse and into their lives within seconds. Silence, due to their momentary confusion, until a voice asks, “Can we not fail in an alternate dimension?” Of course, I allow their parallel craziness which brings a sigh and ideas galore. Too many for fifteen minutes but I get my own moment and many universal success stories based on combinations of video games, cartoons, bad Netflix, and You Tube to read, come writing journal grading. My mind swims in stories that make sense if your name is Mack and you just fell through a cosmic hole to Earth, only to find your long-lost brother, who of course is your twin, named yes, Truck. I will stop. It gets worse but to go with the prompt Mack was successful. Phew.

But what if you could not fail. Where would you head and what fears would you finally conquere? Interesting concept. I find fear holds me back as an adult. Kids will barrel through about anything ie Mack and Truck, but as adults, we second guess most everything. Or is that just me. Am I alone in this world of breaking my own personal glass bubble? Perhaps, it’s not exactly cocktail party conversation so my data is limited.

Within social media we watch accomplishments that I can only dream about and tend to wonder why I can’t make that my reality. Now don’t fear, Jordan, Brady, and the other GOATS you can rest easy, no athletic desire to break their bests. But there are other areas where my talent goes untapped due to fear of failure. My “what ifs” are greater than my efforts at new opportunities. This was not always the case. I fell into this a few years ago after a big failure which was also right about the time of menopause, or at least the beginning of it, and if you have not hit that stage, just wait. It never leaves. It just gets worse. I can’t blame my fear of failure on this stage of life. So, I won’t. It already takes the blame for so many other physical issues, why give it fear of failure. Too much. I own this and am very tired of my own excuses. So, I am breaking free and feeling fear in every tiny cell as I take chances in my blog writing as I settle on a final blog direction, my daily 9-5, and that book. It Feels good. While no grand accomplishments have whisked into my Facebook to humble brag to the world, and with my blog still covering three different areas of my life and obviously still under-construction, as I explore the initial stages of niche finding. I have taken small steps and a possible niche discovery, with a healthy fear but finally feeling awesome about my future direction. I know that failure or detours (nicer ring to it) are part of a process and that we should not fear but do our desires and see where they roll. Why not? We should embrace the day and opportunity in the direction we desire. I have taught my students that “detours” are ok and will create their personal growth. After another speech on Wednesday, to a group of 7th graders, I feel finally free of my funk and fear. I am ready to find my voice in all areas of my writing and life, menopause be damned.