The Mini Van Soap Box

I know I've told ya'll before, but in case you forgot, I have Tuesdays off of work.

Every Monday that rolls around, I think to myself "This will be the Tuesday that I take for me". I won't do laundry, pay bills, or go to the grocery store. I'll paint my toes. I'll take a nap. I'll read a book. However, every Tuesday that follows finds me at the grocery store, paying bills and doing laundry.

So, this morning on an early morning Target run for a tutu and ballet shoes (I'll explain later), I take a quick stroll through the costume section. I know full well that I won't get anything, because seriously, what kind of mother would I be if I got her a costume and didn't give her a chance to have an opinion (a smart one, I imagine). So I'm very quickly going through, just to see if anything screams at me, when I notice this very tired looking mother of two, debating with her son over what HIS costume will be.

"Lion or Bee, Johnny? Please pick one"
"NNOOOO. NOOOO LION - NO BEE"
"(sigh) Johnny, PLEASE, just pick one - or pick anything for that matter. We're running late."
"NNNOOO. HALLOWEEN IS DUMB. I HATE HALLOWEEN!"

I walk by, and pause for just a moment, to share a look of empathy and smile at the exhausted mother. Because that's what we do, right? It's our clubs secret handshake, right? The "our children are secretly trying to kill us" club.

She smiles back. We exchange a few words. She asks how old mine is (apparently making sure I'm really IN the club). Whole conversation is about a minute. Tops. I say "Good Luck" and start to push my cart away.

But she keeps talking.
And talking.

I'm almost into the kitchen appliance section, and she's STILL talking to me. But at this point she has to scream so I can hear her.

Don't you think that pushing my cart away was the hint that I was done. I did my mandatory "I feel your pain" thing...Shouldn't I be free to go now.

Not but 30 minutes later, with all my half price merchandise in hand, I decide to treat myself to a Starbucks before I hit the road.

I order and while waiting for my drink, I overhear the two women behind the counter discussing her chronic and debilitating sinus infections. Apparently she's on antibiotics almost all the time. Her doctors can't seem to help her, blah blah blah.

And then it happened.

I became the crazy lady that WOULD NOT SHUT UP.

I tell her about my husbands sinus problems. I tell her about the revolutionary Neti Pot. YES! I explain the inner workings of how to CLEAN OUT YOUR NOSE. I even tilted my head to demonstrate. I was mortified, but I couldn't seem to stop. In my head I'm thinking "Holy Shit Kerrie, You. Are. Talking. About. Snot." TO A STRANGER.

However, I can at least tell when people are trying to get away from me. Not to mention there was a line forming. So, I hauled ass out of there.

I think I have to find a new Target.

While although my head is a bit cloudy this week, with all the antibiotics and what not, it has seemed that my child has been a bit more odd than usual.

First thing I noticed...when the hell did she become a Solid Gold dancer. Let me assure you that dancing....not something my husband and I do a lot. My husband...Never. Not even at weddings. I have danced, and do enjoy it on occasions, but seldom do it at home...with no music. But over the last few days my daughter has been doing the "Hey Mom - Watch This!" thing. And every time she's bustin' a move.

Weird thing is....She's pretty good. A little too good for a 4 year old if you ask me. I'm starting to think that when I'm not looking she's changing the channel to MTV. Cause this kid has got some moves!

In addition to the Baby Baryshnikov, I've been trying to explain to her this week about germs. Mostly because when one of us is sick....that's when she desperately wants kisses or to sip my drink or lick our spoons. She's not really 'getting' the whole germ thing though.

While putting her down for bed last night.....

"Mommy, you didn't kiss me good night!"
"I know sweetie, I'm sorry. Remember mommy told you about germs? I can't kiss you on the mouth...I don't want you to get sick too."

She thinks about this for a minute.

"Ok. I'll kiss YOU on the mouth"
"Heh. No, sweetie. That's the same thing"

She thinks again.

"Ok, how about here?" (she points to the top of my boob!)

"Yea, um, no"
"Why?"
"Well...well because that's just weird"

Again, thinking.

"Ok. Give me your armpit" (she's quite serious)
"Yuck. No."
"Why??!?"
"Again. Weird!"

She sighed deeply and settled for kissing my knee.

I can honestly say that I've experienced a lot of weird things before...But no one has every requested some alone time with my armpit.

We hit the road again last week to go back to the Outer Banks. This time to see his family. This time a much shorter trip. This time we decided to vacation with a Tropical Storm.

Our time was cut very short as we decided to leave a day early to miss the heavy parts of the storm. It didn't exactly work out the way we wanted it to. We essentially drove for two days IN a hurricane.

Throw that on top of an accident on I64, that shut the entire road down - with a 4 year old in the back that had to go potty so bad her eyes were turning yellow. Note to self: Don't even drive to the freakin' mall without a portable potty in the car. Trying to aim a 4 year old into a 7-11 Big Gulp Cup is no easy task. Ask my husband. He has the pee stains on his shoes to prove it.

We walked in the door on Saturday in hopes of curling up on the couch for two days and doing nothing but watch bad movies - but our basement flooded again.

The second we took care of THAT. I got sick.

All in all - a fucking fabulous week.

I've spent the day home from work, curled up on the couch with my laptop. I've ordered and watched the entire season 6 of Sex and the City. Don't ask me why...I'm sick....I make bad choices when I'm sick.

19 episodes and $40 dollars later. I have a few thoughts.

Who are these people? Are there really single women living in New York that spend $500 on a pair of shoes? I spent most of my 20's single/dating...I never acted like that. Are there really women who relate to this show? I suppose it gives off a bit of a "I Am A Fabulous Woman" vibe....but if I had had as much sex as Samantha Jones, my friends would have called me a whore and my mother would probably never speak to me again.

It did make me wonder though....Do you suppose Sex and the City is where blogging came from? Every episode is her throwing some unanswerable question out into the cosmos.

I called my best friend about an hour ago and confessed my six hours of iTunes watching. I told her that the one thing I kept thinking while watching all of these episodes is that she IS Miranda Hobbs.

She told me that I was Charlotte.

I don't know how I feel about that.

For the most part I would consider myself a strong, independent woman. That's not to say if a man is around I won't ask for help for the things that I don't want to do, but if one wasn't around, I would try to do the things that need to be done. Kill the spiders, mow the lawn, change ceiling light bulbs, etc.

So this morning finds me in the car, heading off to get the car ready for another road trip. Washed, gas, tire check and oil change. About 5 minutes away from the Jiffy Lube, I start my inner monologue. "Oil Change and Tire Rotation...and that's it" "Oil Change and Tire Rotation...and that's it".

As I pull up to the bay doors, I can see the twinkle in the mens eyes and can almost hear them say "We've got a live one boys!"

I continue with my mantra..."Oil Change & Tire Rotation...and that's it!"

I hand my keys over, stand proudly and say in a loud authoritative voice "Oil Change & Tire Rotation, Please"

He nods and takes my information and goes in for the kill.

"Yes, Ok Ma'am, I see you are quite responsible about getting your oil changed. That's very good. Now, it seems that you are due for some other services. Your tubes needs to be flushed, you falange gaskets needs to be replaced, your wigglyworms and googleybobs need reworked. Your entire engine needs to be flushed in peroxide and a ritual virgin sacrifice needs to be made in the name of Minivan. How would you like to pay for that?"

I freeze. I know what I should say. Why is it that every time I do this I feel like a 11 year old girl. What the hell IS a falange gasket and does it really need to be replaced? Where am I going to find a virgin sacrifice this early in the morning? What would my dad say if he were here? Should I call my dad? Does he know a virgin I could call?

I stand my ground and just get an oil change & tire rotation. I pay and drive away. But I'm still wondering all the while if my car if going to blow up because I didn't flush my tubes.

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If that wasn't bad enough to make my stomach hurt and make me wonder if someone was going to come take my "I Am Woman Hear Me Roar" member card away...I then go to get my hair cut.

Since I can't drop $180 for a hair cut and color, I'll frequent the local hair butchery...about once a year. I know it's horrible, and I'm not very nice to my hair, but since it's all turning gray anyway, I figure my hair isn't very nice to me.

I hesitate momentarily in the waiting area of the salon, as I think that maybe getting my hair cut and styled by someone who apparently hasn't seen the inside of a shower in three days, might be a bad idea. But I have things that have to get done today, so I proceed.

She wraps me in a plastic robe, pulls out my head band, runs her fingers through my nappy hair and asks what we need done today.

"Just cut off the dead parts, please"

"hmmmm. Ok. Well, I suppose we could shave your head..."

"Yea. Um. I don't think that's a good idea. Why not just cut off as much of the dead without making me look like Telly Savalas?"