Some Things Just Shouldn't Tilt

I have been on the Tilt-A-Whirl at Six Flags Amusement Park. That was a fun experience. Nowhere in Six Flags was there a ride called, "Tilt-A-Toilet". I know because I looked. Tilting should only happen when it is expected and when it is fun. I'm just sayin. This blog, however, is not about tilting for fun. It is about tilting with a look on my face that says, "Are you freaking kidding me?" It's a ride, just not fun. Let me go back a few days. I was in the car with Micah after doing some errands when he decided that what really sounded good was a fountain drink with that fantastic crushed ice. And because he knew that I was in need of a pee break, but quite a snob about public restrooms, he let me know that the gas station we were stopping at had really nice, clean restrooms. Now I was just planning on holding it until we got home because I really can't relax in a public area. Shy bladder and all that. But his recommendation, and the fact that i really really really had to pee, led me into the gas station. This place was clean and up to date, and while Micah was getting his icy goodness, I just headed right on into the restroom to do my business. Now please understand that this isn't a blog about me doing my business. I mean, well, it is, but it shouldn't be. In fact, I don't usually talk about it at all. BUT, I ended up laughing on the toilet, and that is rare. Really rare. Ok, as I shut the door behind me, it should be repeated that I really REALLY had to go. ahem. That being said, I noticed a few things as I was doing my business. 1. This toilet was built for someone a lot taller than I was. I am not short, but I basically ended up teetering on my tip-toes, so i am wondering, "Is this made for giants? What kind of bathroom is this when I feel like a child on a toilet?" I really needed one of those step-stools that grandma's have for their goofy toddler just trying out the potty experience. it was that high. Seriously. And it got a grin from me. Did I mention I was wearing high heels, too? The visual was what I grinned at. If you do a visual, Please fuzz out the inappropriate parts. Or just know I was wearing a skirt and trying to keep it out of the way. Whatever. 2. As I was in the middle-ish part of my public experience, it occurs to me that I am ALSO tipping and tilting over from one side to the other. I would go as far as to call it listing from side to side. At first I think it is my heels, or that I am too short for the enormous toilet. Nay, it is actually that the TOILET IS TILTING FROM SIDE TO SIDE. Yeah, it is loose, really loose, and is really falling over. This means that my butt is the only thing keeping it upright. I kept trying to hold still, or even get off, but between being on tippy toes, and the fact that the water in the tank was listing from one side, and then compensating over to the other side, I felt like I was peeing while kneeling on a water bed. True, it's not a fun visual, but some things should be told. And while I am at it, I am not able to stop my business because once some things start, they can't stop, so I am on my tip-toes, in a skirt, balancing with my bum while trying to keep my clothes dry and clean. I couldn't help it. I started laughing. 3. I had no idea if I was going to be able to reach the TP. 4. It became irrelevant when I saw that there was no TP in the holder. Surprise!!!! It stopped being funny. I was starting to get sea sick as I swayed one way, balanced another way, and craned my neck to look for other sources of TP. Luckily, I...... Just kidding. There was no Luckily anything. There was no TP. Period. 5. When I found a roll of either cleaning towels, or paper towels, they were so so so stuck to themselves that all I could do with it was rip off small bits of the paper. Yeah, I think I still have some pieces in unmentionable places. Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip..... Not my finest hour. One does what one must, in odd situations. So I have ridden the ride, and have a bum that is raw from gas station paper towel, and I am still stuck. Because I cannot find the kickstand for the toilet. If I get off, it will fall over, and I do NOT want that water on me anywhere. I just sit there for a minute thinking, "What would Laura Ingalls Wilder do in this situation?" and then it comes to me. I am going to have to call for help!!!! Not what I want to do, at all. But .....Nope, I do not ask for help in this situation. I am to busy giggling every once in a while thinking that I am such a dork!!! Eventually, the toilet stops swaying enough that I feel it will stand on it's own. I can tell because i have had to use my butt muscles and my thigh muscles to balance it out. I wonder if I should write a comment card letting the next user know which muscles are best to balance it out, but I opt to just get the heck out of there. I stand up, and flush, knowing that it could spray everywhere. It doesn't. I now feel lucky. Or cocky, because then as I turn on the water to wash my hands, the water goes from full blast, to a trickle, then nothing. APPARENTLY, the toilet water and hand water is the same stuff, and cannot be used at the same time. I feel grimy right now and just want to wash my hands. So I wait to see if the water will come back. It does, but only after the toilet has finished running. trickle, trickle, and then water again. Soap does work, but after rinsing off, the only option is the nasty towels that will rip, rip, rip, rip, rip.... in a million tiny pieces. no thanks. I take one last look at the place that has been one crazy ride, and open the door with my wet hands. Micah asks, "What took so long? Did ya fall in?" and I give him a look that says, "yeah, kind of." I snort, and ask if we can just go home. I did sip at his Mountain Dew on ice. It's as close to a drink as I am getting for now.

Thoughts From A Member of Life: Beam Me Up, Scotty!

Thoughts From A Member of Life: Beam Me Up, Scotty!

How Bout Now? No...Now? Grrrr.....

Writers block can be frustrating, intimidating, and, well, downright discouraging. I know, because I have it. It seems the more I force the situation, the more the writers block just digs in and says, "Um no. You are not in charge of this part. Go for a walk, fold some socks, or just throw your tantrum in the other room. It's not a good time to be writing anything today." Now after I have gone for a walk, and folded the socks, as well as throwing my tantrum in the hallway so I don't mess up any creativity MOJO that may still be lingering on my writing space, .... I'm still blocked. Now what? Um, it's still not time! This is about when I notice how writer's block is like other areas in my life. I simply don't have control over the timing in these areas, either. And no matter how I prepare, or manipulate the elements in that area, the TIMING is simply not mine to control. For instance, the birth of my 2nd son. 1. I had a date narrowed down, ... sort of. 2. I had a route to get to the hospital, ...unless there was traffic/construction/tidal wave, etc. 3. I had an idea of who would be delivering my baby, ...mostly. 4. I knew without a doubt that the epidural would be my choice of pain control...-ish. Yah. This is how it really went down: A. Waiting, Waiting, Waiting. B. Wishing and willing the boy to start his engines so I could keep my schedule. C. Waiting and waiting and waiting some more until I was tired of using my Vulcan Mind Tricks on him. D. Desperately walking and watching TV while practicing eating ice chips. Pretty soon I just took a nap because, after all, I could continue to will him to get moving in half an hour or so, as I was dang tired. THAT WAS ALL ON MY TIME. Now, it seemed that as soon as I let my guard down, the actual plan went into motion. I was yanked out of my sleep by huge pains coming about a minute apart. I was hyperventilating before I realized what was going on, and knew I was having my son right then. I was no longer in charge, I was simply watching what unfolded, along for the ride. SOMEONE ELSE tracked down my husband. SOMEONE ELSE bundled me in the car. SOMEONE ELSE chose their own way to get to the hospital, AND how fast to go, AND which bumps and potholes to use or avoid at their own discretion. I didn't pick who wheeled me to a room that I didn't pick out because there was no time to get settled first. And I certainly wasn't the one that made the decision to let me have the baby naturally, simply because my muscles were too clenched to safely get the epidural in my back. You want to know what I was in charge of through that small but revealing time? My attitude. That's it! Through the whole ordeal, I got to choose how to deal with what life hurled at me. And, no, I didn't rise to the occasion right off the bat. My exact words were, "But I didn't take Lamaze class this time because I planned on using the epidural! Never mind. I am not ready yet. Not like this. Please make it stop. I don't want to do this. Noooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and I'm pretty sure there was a swear word in there somewhere. How did life respond to my response? The pain got worse!!! Eventually I stopped complaining and concentrated on working with the process to get through it. What that looked like to me was finding a specific 1 inch square spot on the ceiling that I could concentrate my will, my force, my pain, my everything that was not my body, and just breathe. I got very quiet and just let myself breathe. Once I got to that point, My son came quickly. Actually I screamed my bloody guts out right before he came, my mother tried to soothe me by saying, "SHHH... it's ok. Don't yell." And I told her, in my least demonic voice, to shut up. (Side Note: I have never told my mom to shut up until that point. It was kind of freeing. I am hoping she doesn't remember that part.) And THENNNN, my son came. And I found that I was a part of life that I wasn't in control of. And Life Still Played On. Again, freeing. To bring it back to my writer's block, I can do all the exercises I want, but when I write best is when I am simply part of Life. I think I will leave the directing to those who really have the schedule down. In the mean time, I just clipped my nails and reorganized my shoes, which I have never scheduled into my life before, so I guess that's good too. Otherwise I would never have thrown out the furry muk-luk boots, complete with tassels, that got handed down to me by some relative in Alaska.

Who says a Camry with a messed up fender can't be the next Wonder-mobile, anyway?

Sometimes life comes at me in little ways, like when I'm doing laundry, dishes, or vacuuming, and a piece of flotsam or jetsam gunks up the works. I have to stop what I'm doing to get rid of it, dispose of it, and then decide if I want to go back to the mundane, or play video poker online. Other times, life throws me a curve ball that takes more heart. Like through the kids. For instance, I got to have the talk...THE TALK... with my 7 yr old today. In a casual way. I wasn't ready for it, but I took a deep breath and just went. It turned out better than I thought, but still received the look from her that said, "I cannot believe you actually knew about this for so long and still acted so NORMAL!..." THEN, there are the times that life winds up and whacks me in the gut, no holds barred. OOF! ZONK! KA-BLAM!!! Those are the times that I find out what I'm made of. Usually, I'm not that impressed. Why? Because it's me doing it, silly. I know the why of why I do what I do. When there are life changing decisions to be made, or decisions being made whether I like it or not, a part of me says, "OOF! Oh, that stings! I don't really have a choice in this, so what am I going to do with the facts?" And... there is also a leeettle part of me that says, "Wait! Not yet, not yet, NOT YET! I'm not done being comfortable. Can't I wait for the next commercial/day/week/vacation?" That's when the decision comes. The choice of when I decide to be strong, calm, and turn lemons into lemonade.... or to run screaming small profanities and cause panic to the masses. I'm currently about 40/60 for my record, I believe. Other people can say how brave, strong, patient or amazing I am. It's been said of many women after all, when husbands/partners/coaches see them give birth, that they could NEVER go through that and survive. Um, for crying out loud. I just think, "Where is that special corner I can curl up in and rock back and forth?" I don't know that I do all the things that I do because of any noble causes at all. The truth is, hero's aren't a special breed of people. They are just people that crap happens to and they didn't run. Maybe their mind went blank and they didn't have an escape route. Maybe they stumbled on their shoelaces and then it was too late. Or maybe the circumstance reminded them of when they were humiliated in 7th grade and this is a way to redeem themselves. Who knows? It just happens that for whatever reason, they stayed and kept going. Not as romantic as being born with red tights, a magic tiara, and a really fantastic set of boots, but still. Here's a secret. Most of us, by far, are heroes. We are someone else's hero. In some way. I think that's the cool part, because I cannot see myself in a cape or a cat mask, no matter how hard I try. But I do see others as my heroes, complete with the persona. My just-in-the-nick-of-time guys, my WHEW! YOU JUST MADE IT!'s. Yeah, I am amazed by them. It is amazing that they show up when I need them, don't ask for payment, and I usually forget to ask for their name until they are gone. So I just think of them as Bob or Frank, or Edna. Those are noble names, right? I Don't have to know em, to experience the talents that are unique to them. Especially when Frank is in a suit and tie, or Edna still has curlers in her hair. HMMMM. In fact, the good news is that we all have secret identities. I could care less what I JUST THOUGHT YOU COULD USE SOME TIME AWAY FROM THE KIDS SO YOU CAN GO TO THE SPA gal does for her secret identity. She shows up and whisks my kids away to the park and I end up making it through a really hard weekend. Where in that saving grace does it say I have to approve of her shows,her occupation, her bedspread, or cooking skills? I DON'T CARE. Other than to know that she is capable with my kids I mean. She just noticed I looked tired at one point in the 3 hour Sunday ritual and thought it might be something more than hearing the TRAVELAMONY that Sister So-&-So was citing. She was right. At no point will I be looking for the labels that I NOTICED YOUR CAR BROKE DOWN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND I HAPPEN TO BE A MECHANIC guy wears on his shirt. Don't care. He is still my hero of the day. I'm just thankful that he happened to be flying my way, you know what I mean? So is it so far fetched that we can be someone else's hero? I mean really. I got to be CAR BATTERY GAL on Wednesday morning, and it didn't occur to me that I did anything out of the ordinary. I just happened to be driving up alongside a woman in an ENORMOUS car who's flashers were on. I could have passed her by, as A. I'm a woman and not a mechanic so what could I do? B. I'm a woman, so I would probably make it worse for whomever ended up rescuing both of us, and C. This is stupid. The light is going to turn green and she needs help. So I roll down the window and ask if she's ok? She says she just put some gas in the car, but she thinks she will need a jump. "Hey! I can do that!", I think. So I pull through the light, through the gas station that is literally 20 feet away, and pull back into traffic. Yep, I'd have to stop up a lane a bit to get into position to help, and did I remember at all which thingee went on black, and what thingee went on red? Crap.... But I still did it. The lady had her own jump cables, and knew what to do so I didn't have to look like too much of the idiot that I felt like, at all. Within 15 seconds she was up and running, and I was back on the road. Sure I was a bit late, but it wasn't a big deal. It hit me then that the term HERO is a term that others give to the person. It isn't self inflicted. Much like "Jerk" or "Molly Mormon/Peter Priesthood" or even "Workaholic". We would more likely call ourselves "Strong willed" or "Devout" or "hard working". Don't those sound nicer? Honestly, when life throws us little curves, or big curves, or even an entire CURVES building, it is up to us to label ourselves, listen to the labels that others give us, or just quit caring about the label at all and just go. I'm much more effective as just someone who gave a crap than anything else. That works well for THE TALK with my daughter, or vacuuming and doing dishes when the flotsam gets in the way, or even when deciding if my life is better lived at 40% or 100%.